Disillusionment
by sfsf
Summary: This is what happens when Merlin is lost. This is why destinies are never simple. - Reveal fic. Set after Series 4.
1. Prologue

This is what happens when Merlin is lost. This is why destinies are never simple.

A reveal fic. Set after Series 4. Canon pairings

Warning: Angst galore

Disclaimer: I do not, under any circumstances, own _Merlin_!

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Prologue

The castle's courtyard had never before accommodated such a large number of people. There must have been hundreds of citizens gathered there, men and women of all ages, a few children amongst them. Most of them were peasants, though some stood out, dressed in rich garments, a clear sign of a noble. They had began gathering hours ago, in the early morning, and they'd kept coming and coming, each one of them determined not to be held back by the chilling cold . The constant rain and the howling wind were natural weather for late Autumn. But the people of Camelot were too stubborn to be hindered by the elements. Not even the army of angry soldiers glaring dangerously at the gathering masses could do anything to stop them from coming.

They were standing there with one purpose. To pay their respects.

In the end, they were all there for _him_.

High above the ground, the thunderstorm continued raging, relentless and unyielding as if it were a creature with a mind of its own and a thirst for vengeance, its loud booming covering almost all remaining sound.

All eyes were turned towards the center of the yard, to the platform that had been raised there last night. Its wood was dark, soaked with water, but it would still serve its purpose. The executioner's block was placed on top, the axe resting on its side. In front of it lay a simple straw basket. It was a plain but unnerving sight, one that though most have already seen a great number of times, none could ever get used to.

The people stirred as they saw her emerge from the shadows to stand on the balcony. Wearing a simple black gown, without any of her jewelry on, their Queen looked properly dressed for mourning. But it was her eyes, her expression, that constituted her being the gravest sight anyone could ever behold. Her eyes held an equal mix of desperation, regret and pure agony. Pain radiated from every pore of Guinevere Pendragon's existence, leaving her quivering on her legs, a shell of her former self.

The only reason that Guinevere was still standing was the woman by her side, who was holding her arms gently, while whispering soothing nonsense to her ear. The young woman's ethereal frame betrayed her royal linage, if the circlet resting on her brow wasn't enough of a sign already. Trying to be strong for the both of them, Princess Mithian avoided any eye contact with the executioner's block, concentrating solely on Gwen.

Then, the main doors to the courtyard opened to allow a group of armed soldiers and knights, all of them in formation around a single tall figure, to barge in. All eyes were drawn to the sight with trepidation.

Within moments, the gathered crowd, almost completely still before, reacted to the scene. Voices rose in desperation. Angry shouts and curses boomed all over, causing the immediate retaliation of the guards charged with handling the now angry mob. Only after they had raised their swords, making it plain to everyone that there would be consequences if they were to keep it up, did the people of Camelot back down.

Slowly, the procession advanced through the parting masses, knights shoving hard anyone stupid enough to step in the way of the prisoner. There was a hood covering his face, rendering him unable to see where he was going. The chain linked to his bound hands and being harshly pulled by one of his captors was the only thing guiding him forwards. Still, he held his figure straight.

When they had reached the wooden dais, two guards grasped the shackled man, each from one shoulder, and dragged him forcibly to the center of the stage. Once they were there, they pushed him roughly on his knees, head inches from the chopping block's rough surface. The next to come forward was the executioner himself, a huge man with an ugly scar covering almost the entire left side of his face, and arms large enough to break a tree trunk in half. He stepped to the kneeling man and grabbed the hood around his head, removing it so that the prisoner's identity would be there for all the world to see.

Such was the focus of the people on _him_, that the condemning words, when they came, were almost unexpected. No one had even noticed when the person who would be ordering the death sentence joined the two crying women on the balcony. But the voice speaking the punishment managed to climb above all the rumble of the storm and the murmur of the crowd, its tone cruel and oh so unforgiving, a clear warning to all.

_You should all know better than to defy me_.

"People of Camelot. You are all here today to bear witness to a true act of justice and to learn a valuable lesson. This man before you is by all means guilty of the most heinous of crimes. Multiple murder and high treason. Let it serve as an example of how people like him must, and will from now on, be dealt with. For his crimes against magic, and the crimes of his tyrannical predecessor, which he still upholds and won't_ever_ denounce, I, Morgana Pendragon, Rightful Queen of Camelot, sentence this man_, Arthur Pendragon_ to death by beheading."

Her eyes were filled with gleeful excitement as she stretched her hand and then turned her wrist slowly, forming the clear signal with her thump pointing down. The following whimper of her brother's false Queen beside her was clearly welcomed as music to her ears.

When the axe's glint shone above the defeated King's neck, even the storm clouds up above seemed to hold their breath, waiting to hear the unmistakable sound of the falling blade cutting through flesh and bone.

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A/N: Tell me, would you like me to continue?


	2. Chapter 1: The weight upon his shoulders

So, this is the first chapter. It might seem a_ little_ huge, but it was kind of necessary. You'll see what I mean. Enjoy!

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**Chapter 1: ****The weight upon his shoulders**

_Seven days earlier_

"Sir Leon, I expect you to meet me in the council room as soon as possible. _Now_ would be best. We have a lot of planning to do. The rest of you are dismissed," Arthur said grimly and dismounted his horse. Around him, the rest of the hunting party followed his example, and soon all the knights were handing their horses' reins to the hands of the stable boys.

Merlin tried to dismount his mare as carefully as he could. He shifted his weight with caution and landed clumsily on the ground right leg first, deliberately lessening the strain on his wounded left flank. Nevertheless, sharp pain flared from his side, causing him to grimace.

_Just breathe. Steady… _He reminded himself.

"Merlin! Where is that _fool_…" he heard Arthur calling. He hadn't even turned towards his master when he felt a heavy hand landing on his shoulder. His vision blurred from the pain… _Why did it have to be the left one?_

"_Mer_lin," Arthur hissed, "procrastinating much?" He didn't give his servant a chance to reply before he continued, "I need you to make sure the stag ends up in the kitchens in one piece. It's to be the main course at the welcoming feast. _No one_ touches it! Oh and, Merlin, when I come back from the council, I expect you to have finished your chores and to have drawn me a bath as well. I smell almost as bad as you do…"

Behind him, Gwaine snorted loudly. Arthur dismissed his servant without a second glance, glared angrily towards his knight and promptly took off.

Gwaine approached his friend with a mischievous smile on his face. "Do you want me to take care of him, my friend?" he joked.

Merlin exhaled shakily, trying to disguise his painful groan as a broken laugh. He knew his wound needed to be taken care of properly, but first he had to make sure he did what he had been told. He couldn't afford raising any suspicion.

Two days ago, he had left Camelot along with the rest of Arthur's party to go on a hunt in the surrounding forests. He should have expected the attack, really. They were gone a day when they encountered the evil sprite's cave. Merlin's magical senses had immediately rang in alarm at the sight, but Arthur, being his usual self, had just dismissed his servant's warnings. He'd been, of course, the _first one_ to lose consciousness. The knights had followed him suit. In the end, it'd been down to silly, mumbling Merlin to save the day once more. After stopping the creature from sucking the King's soul and devouring the knights alive, he'd been generously rewarded by being bitten by the malevolent sprite on his left side.

Merlin had very gladly blown the damn thing in pieces after that.

He hadn't been surprised to discover that he couldn't properly heal the wound with his magic. His life just wasn't _that_ simple. So he had just roughly dressed the wound, in a hurry to finish before the others woke up and saw him. When they finally did come to, they had gladly accepted his half-hearted explanation of how poisonous fumes, coming from the dark cavern, had been the cause of their brief bout of unconsciousness.

The warlock had long ago given up on telling them the truth about his many accomplishments. He could no longer see the point in claiming to have saved the King's life. A few years ago, his excuse would have been that Arthur might suspect him for practicing magic, but it had been a while now that he had given up on that idea. Arthur would never believe him capable of anything even remotely dangerous, even if he saw him casting a spell with his own eyes.

No, Merlin just knew they would never consider him capable of anything worthy. And he was tired of being mocked all the time. He had enough of constantly being the one they teased as the coward, the fool, the simple-minded buffoon. The _girl_, for goodness sake. He could easily imagine what Arthur's reply would be, just the usual sarcasm he was always supposed to accept lightly. Merlin the unofficial court jester, the comic relief.

_You saving my life? Killing a monster? You could barely kill a rat, you fool. Did you hit your head again, _Mer_lin?_

Then again, most of the time Arthur _did_ end up saying something among those lines. _Don't be such a girl, Merlin… Stop quivering behind the trees and come help us… _

_It is a lose-lose situation. I just try to pick the less painful way out…,_ the worn-out warlock mussed silently, aware of the irony in his thoughts.

He let out a sigh, loud enough for Gwaine to raise an eyebrow in question, and headed to unload the bulk of the stag from the pack horse.

Beside him, Gwaine wordlessly followed. They managed to carry their heavy burden to the closest door, Merlin fortunately only pulling, while Gwaine carried most of the weight. From there, Merlin arranged for two other servants to take the animal to the kitchens. He would have to go back and check on its safe arrival later, but for the time being, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

"Don't forget to tend to his royal _highness_, Merlin" he heard Gwaine say. "God knows Arthur is in enough of a bad mood already, no need to aggravate him even more, eh?"

Merlin gave the grinning knight a tired smile. He could feel his wound throbbing and could tell that it had started bleeding again. He needed to go to Gaius' chambers.

"I know, Gwaine… I have to go. You should do what Arthur said, get some rest."

The knight nodded in agreement and departed, leaving Merlin alone to head to the Court Physician's quarters.

Entering Gaius' rooms, he found the old man working furiously over the wooden counter, pounding some kind of smelly substance in his mortar.

"Urgh… What is that _smell_?" he squinted his nose in discuss, pain momentarily forgotten.

"Oh, Merlin, you're back!" the old physician exclaimed. He lifted up his gaze to meet the one of his ward, his hands pausing mid task.

"It's just some beetle-root powder" he said, lifting the item in his hands, "I used all my stock and had to make some more. Thank heavens you're here, my boy. I've been in dire need of your assistance."

"Why…What happened?" the younger man asked guardedly.

"It began with a few of my patients in the lower town. They developed general symptoms, high fever, tremors, headaches, one even experienced hallucinations. But then it began to spread… There are at least twenty sick now, all of them in the lower town."

"Do you suspect magic?"

Gaius shook his head and returned to his pounding. "No, my boy. It's nothing _too_ dangerous. I'm afraid it's just your average epidemic. I've been expecting this, do be honest. With all the troubles with the harvest this year and the gradually chilling weather, it was only a matter of time until something like this happened." The physician poured the context of the mortar into a small vial.

"I'm sorry but I don't have time to chat, Merlin. I need to go back to my patients... I'll probably be gone for some time."

Merlin nodded silently. He watched as his mentor gathered his bag to leave in a hurry.

At the door, Gaius paused and turned to his ward.

"If it isn't too much trouble, please pound the rest of the root for me, Merlin. And if you find time, clean up that mess behind the counter, I'm afraid there was a little accident with one of my cauldrons and I never had time to sort it out." With that last word he was gone.

The young warlock slowly approached the working table. The sight was disheartening. A sticky black stain covered half of the wood and went on to the stone floor. He didn't dare touch it. _Perhaps magic could work?_ Merlin decided to prioritize. He should really take care of his injury first, clean up later. Crouching over the counter, he looked for clean bandages and some of Gaius' special poultice to prevented festering. After recovering, the items he retired to the privacy of his own small room to dress the wound. He would have to do it quickly too, or else he would be late to serve Arthur, and then he would never hear the end of it. He would just have to wait to take something for the pain later, when Gaius would be back. And he had to remember to clean up that mess before he left as well. He didn't want to think what the room would smell like if it was left dirty any longer.

Sometimes he just hated his life.

* * *

After hearing of her husband's return by one of her maids, Queen Guinevere waited for his meeting to finish before she took off from the Great Hall, where she had spent all morning arranging the preparations for the upcoming feast. She found Arthur in his rooms, George helping him out of his armor.

"Where's Merlin?" was the first thing she asked.

Arthur rolled his eyes exasperated. "I send him to take care of some things. He should have been here by now. Probably spending his money at the tavern… No matter, George can easily assist me with my armor. He's far more competent that's for sure," he muttered that last sentence under his breath.

The servant did not miss the complement though. Finishing with his task, George straightened his back, a pleased smile on his face.

"Thank you, Sire. It's a pleasure working for you, my lord, as always," he said reverently. Arthur looked even more peeved than before and quickly dismissed the man, so that he would be alone with his Queen.

"How was your hunt, my love?" she asked, coming closer to embrace him.

"Not as good as I would hope. I managed to bring back a stag, some hares as well. Not enough for a grant feast I'm afraid."

She could see her husband's frustration in the stiffness of his shoulders, the frown on his face. She touched the side of his face, her fingers running smooth circles across his forehead to ease the tension.

She replied, her tone soothing, in an effort to calm, to reassure.

"I'm sure they'll understand, Arthur. It'll be fine, you'll see. They all know we had trouble this year, they know our food is short. I'm sure they will appreciate whatever we give them."

He looked at her with tired eyes. She smiled and continued.

"You are doing the best thing for your people, my King. This meeting, the trading treaty you have prepared, is the solution to our problems. And all these other Kings and Queens, they are all allies of Camelot, my love. You said it yourself. They're the only ones who can help. And they will do so, because this treaty benefits them as much as it does us," she finished, and placed a small kiss at the side of his mouth.

Arthur let out a loud sigh.

"You are right, of course. It's just that I can't help being worried. The last rumor we heard report that Bayard is employing a _sorcerer_ in his court. Whatever the case, we must be on guard. Camelot is vulnerable now more than ever. The people are half starved already; many of the knights are spread throughout the kingdom to prevent uprises. The worst is that all the other Kings _know_ this."

Gwen felt unease at the thought of her kingdom being _this_ weak, this vulnerable. Two years ago, when she had been crowned, Camelot was recovering from yet another attack from Morgana. She and Arthur had worked hard to make the kingdom prosperous again. Now though, a rare drought through the summer months had resulted to the smallest harvest in years, and Camelot and its people were in danger once again, this time from famine and sickness.

At least the last couple of years had come and gone with no further attacks from Morgana. After their confrontation in the palace, Gwen wasn't sure if the witch had even survived. Not finding her body, they were only able to speculate what had happened to the usurper queen, the woman she had once regarded as her closest friend. The woman that had ultimately become an example of how powerful magic could corrupt the soul.

"I'm sure you and your knights will be able to protect us all, Arthur," she said with confidence. She heard the door open then, no one had knocked so she assumed it was Merlin, and continued. "As for the sorcerer, I don't believe Bayard to be foolish enough to trust one, my love. Especially after all he went through because of magic the last time he was here. Still, I understand better than anyone that a sorcerer can trick even the best of men. Perhaps it would be wise of us to be on our guard."

Arthur nodded and sat at the chair behind his desk. She turned to see Merlin placing a tray with the King's lunch on the table. Gwen noticed he wasn't being his usual chattering self; instead he seemed almost… troubled. And also a little paler than usual, now that she looked closer. She wondered if there was something the matter with her friend.

"Merlin? Are you alright?" she asked.

He was startled to hear her addressing him, but he gave her a small smile in reply. The Queen noted it didn't reach his eyes.

"I'm fine, Gwen…" he began.

He was interrupted by a loud bang. Turning around, Gwen realized Arthur had slammed his fist on the desk in anger. "It's _my Lady_, you idiot! It is one thing not to show respect to me, _Mer_lin, it's another to not respect your _Queen_…"

"Arthur!" Gwen tried to stop her husband, shocked of his sudden outburst, but he wouldn't back down.

"You shouldn't concern yourself with _him_, Guinevere, he's his usual mumbling self, always dallying around, trying to avoid doing his job," the King spat indignantly. "You are late as usual…_Mer_lin! Did you at least deliver the stag to the kitchens or did you forget that as well, hmm?" he lifted an eyebrow in question.

Merlin opened his mouth to reply, eyes wide in disbelief at the King's attack.

Arthur yet again didn't let the man answer. "I thought so," he said almost triumphantly. "Do you realize that in _two days_ we'll be hosting almost all the royals of the five Kingdoms _and more_? Do you? Everyone in the castle is working without a moment's rest to prepare for our guests' arrival and what do you do? Loiter around doing _nothing as always_! Well, I'll have none of that! From now on you are assigned to the kitchens to help with the preparations. You will also take care of the knights' swords and armor; they need to be spotless and shining for the welcoming ceremony. Now get out of my sight and don't come back unless it is to prepare me a bath!" he finished ranting.

Gwen was simply affronted. Before she could reprimand her husband, or at least try to apologize to Merlin for him, the servant sucked in a breath, gave a curt nod towards the King and promptly took off.

"Arthur! That was no way to treat your friend! You should apologize to him immediately. You know very well he tries his best to serve you. I cannot believe you really meant all of that…"

The king deflated under his wife's cold stare. Gwen knew he was being under pressure, more than anyone else in the realm, the weight of the responsibility he had to his people alone was enough for a lesser man to crumble, but to let it all out on his manservant in that way…? Not that it'd been the first time something like this had ever happened. But, she'd thought, now that he was King, he had grown out of that kind of behavior. And, whether Arthur would admit it or not, Merlin _was_ one of his closest friends, always by his side. He didn't deserve such ill treatment.

Arthur returned to reading the papers on his desk. He didn't say anything more, too proud to even acknowledge he was wrong in front of his wife, so Gwen decided it would be best to leave him alone to calm down.

She nearly missed his reply when it came as she was heading out, his voice low and hoarse.

"I treat him that way because I know he can take it. He knows I don't mean it, Guinevere. It's just the way we work."

Closing the door behind her, Guinevere thought Arthur shouldn't be so sure about that.

* * *

"We'll make camp here for the night," Prince Lucan instructed his knights. They dismounted and followed his orders. He secured his own horse, tying the reins to a nearby tree and headed for the river bank.

The small stream they had spotted earlier that day had become a full sized river as they rode closer to Camelot. While exploring its rocky shores, he had found the small clearing where they were now settling for the night, almost completely hidden from the thick forest that surrounded it.

Lucan sat on the sand, leaned on a rock and gazed at the flowing river before him. The sun had almost set, but he could still distinguish the different currents in the water and the swirls they created. If the spectacle wasn't calming enough, the steady sound of the running water definitely was.

He'd lost track of time, deeply occupied with his thoughts, when he heard a familiar shuffling behind him. Soon Declan was sitting next to him. He offered him a small bowl of stew.

"I thought you might be hungry, Sire," the older man said.

Lucan took the food but showed no interest in eating it.

"Sire, may I ask what is troubling you?" he inquired.

Lucan turned to him. Declan was at least ten years his senior, but he was one of few people the Prince of Ostia could call a friend. He had been raised amongst the Druids, but when he'd grown up; he had chosen to live his life in the castle, in the service of the King, not in the woods. He had proven himself as loyal and irreplaceable, standing for years by the side of the Prince. It was no wonder he could read his moods so easily.

Lucan knew there was no point in denying the obvious.

"I was thinking, my friend. About what he will be like. I mean, what he will _really_ be like. I just… I can't believe we're going to _meet_ him. I've spent so many years on this, Declan. You of all people know how much we all have invested in this…"

"You were sure this was the right time, my Lord…"

"Oh I still am… Believe me. If half of what I felt, what I _saw_, was true, then we might already be too late."

Lucan dropped his head between his knees. The constant nagging in his head was getting worse. What if they were too late? What if he couldn't persuade him? What if something went wrong and their plan was exposed?

"Lucan…" he heard the druid address him. "You must be strong now, my friend. You mustn't lose faith. The day after tomorrow we arrive in Camelot. _This is it_. There is no turning back now… We have come this far. Don't despair. Whatever happens, be certain we _will_ succeed in our goal."

The prince eased up a bit after hearing his friend's calming arguments.

Declan, in an effort to make his friend smile, grabbed the disregarded bowl of food.

"What?" he stated innocently, "If you're not going to eat it, I might as well do! No point in wasting good food…"

"You cooked it, so excuse me if I doubt it being any _good_," Lucan joked freely. The two men laughed, feeling the tension ease off.

"I'm curious about the city of Camelot. Between the numerous tales of the city's beauty, and the _even more_ tales of its King's _extraordinary heroic _accomplishments, I cannot wait until I rest my eyes upon it," Declan stated lightly, making Lucan groan in frustration.

The druid delighted in making fun of his prince.

"Oh, that's _right_! You've already met the _famous_ King Arthur, haven't you?" he said in a very mock naïve tone that could fool no one.

"Urgh! Don't remind me…" Lucan snorted. "I still can't believe he was only three years younger than me. The things he said, the way he treated everyone around him. A _spoilt brat_, that's all he was. And his father, at the very least, indulged his every whim. I remember meeting him and thinking that when _I_ was fifteen, if I hit any servant on the head for 'not doing their jobs to my standards' _my_ father would send me to the stocks until I learned to respect all people."

The druid smiled at the mention of his King. "Your father has always been a man of high moral stature, my friend. What did you expect from the son of a man whose greatest accomplishment was _genocide_?"

"Well, _not_ to defeat a dragon or an immortal army, _that's_ what I'd expected. The barely adequate, spoilt young prince that transformed into the gallant, almighty warrior of legends…" the sarcasm was plain in his voice.

"You know the truth behind the stories, Lucan," Declan pointed out. He got on his feet, dusting the dirt from his travel clothes.

"Come, let us rest. We have to rise before dawn."

Lucan heard his friend's footsteps fade to the background. He wasn't tired yet. He couldn't think of sleeping, not now, when they were _this_ close.

In two days he would see him with his own eyes.

In two days he would meet _Emrys_.

* * *

When Merlin finally made it to his room, it was hours past midnight. He had managed to finish almost every task given to him, except caring for the knights' equipment. He would just have to rise earlier next morning to take care of it.

Gaius had already been sleeping, so he didn't bother waking him up for the potion, his pain had somewhat diminished and was now more of a constant ache, a reminder of his injury. Merlin saw no need to worry Gaius. He already had so much on his mind.

He lay on his bed, unable to sleep. His body was tired, begging for rest, having been driven once again to its limits, but his mind was on edge. He knew Arthur had yelled at him because he was stressed, but still, it felt almost too cruel. What he really couldn't forget, though, was what he'd heard him discuss with Gwen. The way they had both talked about _sorcerers_, about magic. He couldn't _but_ let it get to him.

Three years. Three years of Arthur being King, and still freeing magic was nothing more than a dream. A dream that Merlin had began to consider impossible to ever come true. He had to stop a harsh laugh when he remembered a younger Merlin, so naïve as to believe that one day all his hard work, all his sacrifices, would be recognized. That one day he would be free.

_I guess my freedom is the price I have to pay for my mistakes._

When he finally drifted off, it was to a sleep full of strange dreams, dark images. Faces of people he had lost came to him crying. His father. _Freya_. He saw Morgana sitting on the throne, taunting him. He saw Gwen crying, Arthur glaring at him, and then slowly turning his back, vanishing into the darkness. He felt the air leave his lungs. Destiny was cruelly making fun of him.

He woke up.

Nightmare. It was only a nightmare.

_Breathe._

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A/N: So... What did you think of it? I know it's not what many of you expected, and I _promise_ we'll get there eventually, but please, _please_ _don't hate it!_ I needed to explain what happens before the events in the prologue, and unfortunately, there is a _lot_ of stuff that needs to happen...

As for Lucan, I haven't physically described him yet, but he –in my head- resembles an actor that (let me tease you a bit) has already played a Prince that later became King... Any guesses? By the way, Arwyn-T my beta, is totally in love with him... (Merlin still being number one though...)

Leave a review for me, will you? Not only does it make my day, it'll urge me to start writing the next chapter as well!


	3. Chapter 2: So close, now

A/N: To those who reviewed anonymously: Thank you so much!

* * *

**Chapter 2: So close now**

"More wine," Merlin heard Arthur order him. He retrieved the pitcher from the side table quickly and poured its context in the King's raised goblet.

"I have arranged for Alined's quarters to be as far away from Queen Annis' as possible. After that 'incident' at their borders, I doubt they'll want to see each other more than necessary," the Queen spoke, addressing both her husband and his men.

It was the night before the big arrival and the King had chosen to dine with his wife and inner circle, in order to discuss any last minute changes concerning each person's role and duty for the following days.

Thus they had gathered in one of the small dining rooms, Arthur sitting at the head of the table as usual with Gwen on his right side and the rest of his closest knights surrounding them. They had long finished their meal and where now deep in conversation about what the next day would bring.

Merlin returned to his place, standing beside a pillar at the right side of the King. At first he tried to follow their conversation, knowing he needed all the information he could get in order to be prepared for any kind of threat these royals could pose. After an hour though, he found himself drifting.

Arthur had spoken once again about the rumors concerning Bayard's alleged sorcerer. The reaction from the knights had been exactly what the warlock had expected, grimly voiced concerns and valiant declarations of their willingness to do whatever they could for their King. He had tried not to let it bother him this time, he really did.

Merlin mused silently while the others moved on different matters. Even if the rumors were true, why should_ he_ immediately draw the conclusion that the sorcerer was going to harm Camelot in some way? Bayard had been an ally of Camelot for years, why would a sorcerer working for him want to destroy them? Of course, there was the possibility of the sorcerer wanting to take revenge for the death of their kin in the hands of Uther… But on the other hand, what if they wanted to help? Magic could definitely be of great assistance in dealing with the low harvest and the illnesses.

Merlin himself had been tempted quite a few times these past months to end the Kingdom's growing suffering by using his powers. In the end, he'd decided he couldn't risk disturbing the balance of the Old Religion. He just _didn't know_ what price it would ask in order to save the Kingdom. Once again, he had proven inadequate. He really wished he had more knowledge about of the Old Ways.

But then again, where would he learn it from? Even if he had all the books and instructions he needed to do so, where would he find the _time_ to do it? He was always running about doing some chore or another. Apparently, Merlin the servant's duties would always precede Merlin the warlock's needs.

He was startled from his thought by a bout of laughter coming from the table before him. He watched as the King, the Queen and the Knights exchanged smiles, reveling in some inner joke. His mind abruptly traveled to another place and time, when the same people, with the exception of the absent Lancelot, were sitting not very unlike this, in an ancient castle, smiling in order to give strength to one another for the trials to come. He remembered Arthur's words that night at the Round Table, where he spoke of every man being _equal_.

He too had been a part of that gathering. But now, as he let his eyes gaze upon the people before him, he realized he wasn't anymore. Somewhere along the way, he had stopped being one of them. He was left behind, while the others had moved on. And if the last days had taught him anything, it would be that _he_ would never do. He would never be good enough for Arthur, a King now, to think highly of him. The one thing that made him special, the one thing that made him _who he really was_, was also the only thing he could never reveal. He was _magic_ and he couldn't see a way for him to ever be accepted, especially by those he considered his closest friends.

_You think of them as such, but do they think the same about you?_

When Arthur lifted his empty goblet once more, all the while his eyes never leaving Gwaine, who was currently talking, the young warlock couldn't help but _doubt_.

* * *

When he returned to the Court Physician's chambers that night, Merlin found Gaius waiting for him at the table with a modest meal and a warm cup of tea.

"You look tired, Merlin. Here, take a seat."

The warlock did as he was told. Soon he was devouring the food his mentor had placed before him.

"I have to tell you something, my boy. This morning I received a letter from an old friend who lives in a village half a day's ride from here. He says the illness has struck there too, and they are in dire need of a physician. Thankfully, we haven't had any more falling sick in Camelot, and those who are have been responding to my remedies very well. So I talked to Arthur about it and I'll be riding out tomorrow after the sun rises," he finished gently.

Merlin didn't know what to say about that. After a moment he spoke.

"Will he at least have knights escorting you? I know it's not that far, but you can never be too careful, Gaius…"

The physician assured his ward. "Yes, I'll be escorted, don't you worry. I'll need you to take care of my patients for me though… Here," he said giving him a small rolled parchment, "their names and their medication. I shouldn't be gone more than two, three days at the most, so you'll be all covered with the potions I'll leave you with. I know it's a hectic time for you, Merlin, but it's my duty as a physician, I couldn't refuse to go."

"I understand, Gaius… It's alright," he finished his meal and stood up.

"Good night, my boy."

He smiled to his mentor as he climbed the steps leading to his room.

"Good night, Gaius."

* * *

Once in his room, Merlin thought about what Gaius had said. As if he hadn't enough to do already, he now had to look after all the sick people in the lower town as well. That meant one thing for certain. More leg work for _him_.

That day had been exhausting for the young servant; he had scrubbed floors for hours, mucked the stables, helped in the kitchens, and on top of that cleaned half of Arthur's clothes, his sword and his chambers, only to be met with the King's cold short replies and indifferent stares. He knew how things would go with Arthur. The King would behave cold for a little while longer, then move on to awkward and a few days after he would 'break the ice' with some crude joke about Merlin's intellect and they would be _as_ _good as new_. Though, at the very least, Merlin had expected Arthur would have told him about Gaius leaving.

He lay to sleep hoping this night he would be too tired to dream. He could really use some rest.

* * *

At the same time, just outside a clearing some miles from the city of Camelot, stood Morgana Pendragon, dressed in her usual black laced dress, watching the two dark figures galloping away from her camp, her gifts safely packed amongst their other belongings.

She scoffed remembering the look on the sorcerer's face when she gave him the vials.

_What a weakling. The people I have to depend on…_

She turned her back to the two riders and let her gaze fall upon her small settlement. Her men, her _bloodguard_, were keeping silent, some sleeping, others standing watch. Only one fire burned low, as not to raise any suspicion.

It had taken two years for her to gather these men, each of them loyal to her, the last priestess of the Old Religion. They were in total no more than fifty men, all capable with swords, a few able to even use a spell or two.

_Perhaps not the most formidable of armies but, considering where I ended up the last time I tried one of those, this might actually do the trick._

She just needed her plan to _work_ this time. There was no room for mistakes. She depended on this _King_ and his sorcerer to do what she and so many others hadn't managed.

To kill Emrys.

And then Camelot would be hers.

_Soon_.

* * *

Merlin was late. He run through the castle's corridors heading for the courtyard. He had woken up earlier than usual that day, dressed in a hurry and gone to do Gaius rounds at the lower town. When he returned to the castle, he found the King had already gone to wait for the delegations' imminent arrival.

The other servants just rolled their eyes at the sight of his disheveled form shoving clumsily to pass through them.

When he reached the courtyard, he found a large number of people hovering around watching the sight of the arriving royals. He tried to approach the king's side as discretely as he could. He had almost made it when he tripped on a step and landed gracelessly on the base of the stairs.

He felt someone forcefully grabbing him from the hem of his tunic and pulling, and came face to face with a _very_ angry King.

"Where on earth have you _been_, you idiot!" Arthur hissed as he released his servant and glared at him. "One thing, Merlin, you have _one_ thing to do, to take every guest to their chambers and when Queen Annis arrived you were nowhere in sight! Thankfully, _George_ was here to make up for your inefficiency. "

_There we go again with George. _

He didn't manage to explain himself because it was at that time that King Bayard's delegation arrived. Merlin watched as numerous knights dressed in blue climbed off their horses and joined their King to greet the King of Camelot.

After exchanging pleasantries, Arthur signaled to Merlin to show the King and his people to their rooms. When Bayard's eyes fell upon the servant, he immediately took a step back in shock.

"_You_! You're the boy that almost caused me my head…" he began, his tone suddenly a lot less pleasant than before and much more dangerous.

Merlin gulped, aware of the hard stares he was receiving, not only from King Bayard but the rest of the man's party as well. He didn't know how he should proceed. Thankfully, Arthur got in the middle and stopped Bayard from maiming the servant, by assigning him to George, who was so efficient he had already finished his previous task.

Arthur shot Merlin a murderous glare but did not comment further on the incident. The young warlock felt glad about _that_ at least.

Next came Princess Mithian, who, after a few minutes of awkward conversation with Arthur and Gwen, had gladly followed Merlin to her visiting quarters, along with the few knights that accompanied her. She was as lovely as the young servant remembered, and once more he felt guilty about the way he had treated her during her first visit.

Merlin missed King Alined's arrival, as he was seeing to Princess Mithian at that time, but he was there for the final guest's welcome. When he took his place behind Arthur, he heard his discussion with Guinevere about the man they were waiting to meet.

"Apparently King Leonard isn't fit to travel such a long journey any more, especially this close to winter. No wonder, he is nearly a decade older than my father…"

Gwen responded with a soft hum. Soon they saw the last delegation enter the courtyard.

"That's his son, then? What was the name… Prince Luke, no _Lucan_, wasn't it?" she said, while she was trying to make out the approaching figures.

"Yes, _Lucan_. I met him once, when I was younger. Not much of a fighter, that boy. I was fifteen, three years younger than him, and I remember besting him easily. Perhaps he has improved since then. We should try for his good favor as well. Ostia may be a small kingdom, but there is no doubt it's one of the wealthiest, most prosperous in Albion. Perhaps I'll be able to persuade him to send us some provisions for the winter, along with the trading agreement…" he trailed off, seeing as the royal in question had got off his horse and was walking towards Camelot's welcoming party.

Merlin stood half hidden behind the King and his knights and took his time to observe the Prince of Ostia and his companions.

Prince Lucan was a tall man, perhaps even slightly taller than Arthur. He had broad shoulders but an otherwise lean, elegant frame. He was wearing not the usual chainmail but a fine leather jacket, dark lavender with intricate golden embroidery near the shoulders, dark breeches and knee high black leather boots, with heavy metal buckles on the side. He wasn't wearing jewelry, except for a discreet circlet upon his head, evidence of his princely status.

What captured the warlock's attention though was the man's face. Straight dark brown hair that reached his shoulders, a clean forehead, a set of warm brown eyes, a friendly smile and a neatly trimmed beard. He was certainly a handsome man -Merlin could hear some of the female servants behind him _swoon_- but the young warlock saw much more than that. In this man's face, he could see something he hadn't seen since he had lost his one true friend, Lancelot.

He could sense a nobility of the soul that was rare, if entirely non-existent, amongst royalty.

* * *

Lucan's eyes scanned the crowd gathered on the steps of Camelot's palace searching for a familiar face. He remembered his face, had been seeing it in his dreams almost every other night, but the man he had seen in the visions and the man he would hopefully meet today _could_ look different. He sensed Declan following not far behind on his horse. Once they reached the King and Queen, Lucan got off his horse and moved forward.

Arthur Pendragon had become an impressive man, his presence regal and commanding respect. Lucan was surprised to see the young King had lost that, almost constant, arrogant sneer that had decorated his face in his youth. If he had to admit it, if he hadn't met him before, he would have formed a good impression about him now.

_That's to teach you that first impressions can be misleading._

"Welcome, Prince Lucan of Ostia. It's good to see you after all this time, my friend," King Arthur spoke graciously.

"It is my pleasure to answer your invitation, my Lord. My father wanted me to assure you he would have come himself if his health didn't prevent it…"

"I completely understand. Allow me to introduce you to my wife, Queen Guinevere…"

At that, the Queen turned to offer her hand to the visiting Prince. Lucan kissed gently on the knuckles, offering her a kind smile, which left her blushing and smiling in return.

"Well then," Arthur quickly interrupted the interaction, "you must all be tired from your journey. Let my manservant lead you to your quarters for now and we will meet again tonight at the feast," he said a bit too forcefully.

By his side, Lucan heard the light snort Declan disguised as a cough and tried not to smile at the expense of his host.

"Merlin," Arthur barked, "take the Prince to his rooms, will you? And try not to do anything foolish…"he heard him add under his breath.

Merlin came forward and politely stated "If you would follow me, Sire…"

But Lucan couldn't move, he couldn't breathe. Because there, before him, dressed in a worn brown jacket, a red tunic and a dark blue neckerchief, his eyes a familiar clear blue hidden behind tired black circles, was the man he had been waiting almost his entire life to meet.

Emrys.

* * *

After the first shock of seeing him in person, Lucan followed a slightly baffled Merlin to the guest room given to him by his _generous_ host. Once inside, Merlin asked if there was anything they'd be needing and, upon hearing a faint "No, thank you" from the Prince, he departed swiftly, not before stating they should call for him if they had any request. Declan informed him that as _he_ was the princes' manservant, anything his highness wanted he could ask _him_.

When the man, left Lucan dropped on the bed, his face blank, still unable to process what had happened.

Declan came with a cup of wine in his hands and offered him the much needed drink.

"I take it this was him then?" he asked, a little in vain in Lucan's opinion. He thought it would be obvious, from the way he had acted from the moment he saw him, who the servant really was.

"So, still a servant then…" the Druid continued, seeing the Prince wasn't very willing to talk. "It makes sense. Pendragon clearly doesn't know who he really is. If he did, he'd either repeal that stupid law or he'd had him killed. Or perhaps only exiled. Nevertheless, this is good, right? He is alive and well, he is _here_, it's all going according to plan so far…"

The Prince seemed to wake up from his stupor after hearing that. He shook his head in disagreement.

"He's alive, yes, but _well_? I'm not sure. From what I remember, I could tell he was growing frustrated. And for him to remain like _this_ for such a long period of time… It makes me even more sure that we were right in coming here, we're right for doing this."

His friend took a seat beside him. "Lucan, you promised the elders you'd be absolutely sure about this before you act. You have to give King Arthur a chance. Perhaps he'll surprise you…"

The other man scoffed indignantly. "Him? Did you hear how he _talked_ to him? The displeasure in his tone, the _decorative adjective?_ I'll be careful, Declan, this I promise, but I really think I will be proven correct in the end. To tell you the truth, I hope I'm wrong. Because if I'm right, then Emrys' many trials would have been for nothing," he finished, feeling sad at the thought.

He got up and went to lock the door. Gesturing Declan to remain seated, he went to his small trunk and unlocked the metal padlock with his key. He retrieved the small bundle from within.

Careful not to uncover the item, he weighed it in his hands. Declan was regarding him silently, sharing his friend's thoughts and doubts.

"Since you're pretending to be a servant, you can use your position to ask around amongst the lower staff. I want to know everything that has happened from the moment he set foot on this place…"

The Druid simply nodded, already knowing what would be needed from him.

Lucan carefully placed the small bundle to the table.

"I just hope this'll work…" he said absentmindedly.

"It will, Sire," Declan assured.

* * *

Merlin served Gwaine and Percival wine, while the two knights were talking to some of Alined's men. The feast had been going on for quite some time, and it had been surprisingly successful. The visitors were all seated at the high table with the King and Queen. Mithian was seated next to Gwen, the two of them, having surpassed the initial awkwardness, were engrossed in a deep conversation. Annis was by Arthur's right, talking with Bayard, while Alined, sitting next to Lucan at Mithian's left, was happily munching on the venison the hosts had provided for them.

The warlock returned to his position, trying not to think of how hungry he was. Between covering Gaius' charges and running behind the visitors all day, he hadn't managed to take a break and eat something, which resulted in him feeling weak and lightheaded. On top of that, his wound had started bothering him again because of all the heavy lifting he had to do during the day. On the plus side, at least it hadn't festered.

"That reminds me, Arthur. I was meaning to ask you earlier if you've heard the rumors, but I hadn't got the chance," King Alined said to Arthur.

The King of Camelot leaned on his seat so that he would be facing the man. Merlin noted that his expression betrayed nothing.

"What rumors are you talking about?' he asked almost nonchalantly.

"Why, of your mad sister's death, of course," he said, almost too loud, causing a great number of people to pause mid conversation and stare at him. Merlin straightened a bit, suddenly finding himself engrossed by the dialogue between the two Kings.

Arthur's face was hard as steel when he next spoke.

"What do you mean _her death_?"

"I've heard on good authority that the Lady Morgana has been killed. Poisoned if I'm correct. Yes, an attempt to gather allies that went horrible wrong. For _her_ at least. You did not know? I heard it _months_ ago, nay, a year …" the King was sounding genuinely perplexed.

Merlin regarded the man carefully. He hadn't forgotten what had happened the last time Alined was in Camelot. He would never trust the man, he had told Arthur as much, but the King was adamant that Alined would help Camelot, especially when he would be the one to gain the most from their trading agreement.

Still Merlin had decided to be on guard. He had actually spotted Trickler, that obnoxious jester of Alined's, loitering around though this time he had come as a servant.

To hear now of such news and from the mouth of a man he knew as a liar, Merlin didn't know _what_ to believe.

Truth be told, Morgana hadn't given any sign she'd been alive for a long time now. And the story did sound plausible; it was a situation Morgana could've found herself into, surrounded by danger and enemies in every corner. But something about the way she'd supposedly died, to be _poisoned_, it just didn't seem right. Merlin had the impression that after what happened between them all those years ago that fateful day at the Great Hall, she'd learned her lesson. Call it a hunch if you like, he just had the feeling that Morgana wouldn't drink _anything_ she wasn't completely sure was poison-free.

Arthur's reaction was very different from Merlin's. He stayed still for a few moments, absorbing the news, and then quickly stood up, mumbled an excuse and stormed off the Hall. Merlin decided Gwen could handle the royals for a bit and took off in his masters heels.

Once outside, it wasn't difficult to find the King. He was sitting in a small alcove nearby, head nested in his hands.

"Arthur…?"

The King's eyes lifted.

"What do you want, Merlin?" he asked tired.

"We can't be sure what he says is true, you know that. He told you himself, it's just a rumor. It could be nothing. She could be alive…"

"And I suppose I should be _glad_ at that thought…" he answered bitterly.

"I know she's your si-" he began to say but Arthur beat him to it.

"You know NOTHING!" he shouted, his voice echoing in the nearby hallways.

Merlin froze, shaken by the outburst. He knew Arthur was hurting, he knew he needed comfort. If he would just let him in, talk to him like he did before…

"Just… _go away_, Merlin," he heard him say in a small voice, tired and almost completely resigned.

Merlin swallowed a lump in his throat.

"A-as you wish, Sire…"

He turned and headed back to the Great Hall, his heart beating loudly, his head lighter than it had been all night. He was moving slower than usual, black spots starting to cloud his vision, making it hard for him to see where he was going.

He heard a distant yell and then he didn't remember anything else but darkness.

* * *

A/N: Poor Merlin… I feel awful for mistreating him in this way. Next chapter I promise you'll have a glimpse at Arthur's mind. I thought he should get his chance as well.

I have two virtual cookies to give:

The first to the reader who will figure out which actor I have in mind when I describe Lucan! He has already portrayed a prince that became a king on the big screen.

The second to the reader who finds the _Game of Thrones_ reference in this chapter. If you've read the books it'll be a piece of cake…

Please leave a review for me? I kind of live on them :) It goes review, water, food. So please…?


	4. Chapter 3: The countdown

A/N: And the virtual cookies go to:

1)_** Elfpen**_, _**TeganL74**_ and _**a fellow merlin fan**_ for figuring out that the actor Prince Lucan resembles is no other than _Ben Barnes_, who played Prince/King Caspian in two of the Chronicles of Narnia films!

2)_** Pernicia**_ who got the Game of Thrones reference. Thank you so much for that! I thought no one would get it… It was the "You know nothing", in case someone was wondering! :)

I should also say that I do not own Ben Barnes (imagine what I could _do_ to him if did own him…), or Merlin, or Narnia, or GoT for that matter. Just to play it safe…

Oh, and thank you to those who reviewed anonymously!

On with the story!

* * *

**Chapter 3: The countdown**

The first thing Merlin understood when he came to was that he was lying on something very soft and comfortable. It took him a few seconds to process that information. He could remember talking to Arthur in the corridor and then he had tried to return to his duties in the Great Hall. He couldn't recall ever making it there.

Gingerly he opened his eyes. The light in the room was low, its source probably a single flickering candle, but he could clearly distinguish the ornate furniture that surrounded him. He was lying on the bed inside one of the guests' rooms. He was definitely not in Arthur's chambers.

He heard a movement and lifted his head from the pillows, only to be forced to lie back on the bed by a larger figure.

"You shouldn't get up yet," the man said. Merlin immediately recognized the voice as Prince Lucan's.

"Sire….?" He asked, confused as to what had happened for him to end up in the visiting royal's chambers.

After making sure Merlin wouldn't disobey his orders and would remain in bed, Prince Lucan took a chair from the table and sat close to the bed, facing the servant.

"You passed out in the hallway. My man found you, brought you here to make sure you're alright. He said the Court Physician isn't in the Castle at the moment…" the Prince stated, lighting another candle and placing it on the bed side table.

They spend a few moments in silence, Merlin feeling awkward and out of place on the large bed, still lightheaded and not able to think very clearly, while the visiting Prince was very unsubtly scrutinizing the young servant's appearance. Lucan was the first to break the silence.

"Why did you pass out, Merlin?" he asked, his voice even and gentle.

Merlin felt embarrassment rise inside him. He couldn't admit to not taking care of himself properly without sounding like an incompetent fool. He wasn't in a state to lie, though, so he just steeled himself for the soon to come reprimand.

"I haven't eaten all day, Sire. I guess, I forgot… Please, there's nothing to worry about, I'm really sorry I bothered you…" he began to apologize, feeling incredibly guilty to have become a burden to this man, a Prince and a _guest_. On the back of his mind he wondered how long he was out, and if the banquet had already ended. Most likely it had, seeing as Prince Lucan was back in his chambers.

Lucan didn't let him.

"You don't need apologize to me, Merlin," he said, his expression strange, unreadable. "Tell me something. Did you have any breaks today? Did _Arthur_ not see, not _care_ for your wellbeing?" he asked a little sharply.

Merlin felt more unease at the sudden seriousness shown by the previously very pleasantly mannered man. He tried to reply honestly.

"The King has a lot on his mind right now, Sire. He couldn't bother with me, I'm just a servant…" he tried to put lightly.

"Are you?" Lucan cut in. "From what Declan told me, word around the castle is that, to him, you are more of a _friend_ than a servant …" he looked at him expectantly.

Merlin let out a small laugh. "Yeah, I don't know. _Perhaps_. He'd never admit it though…"

Lucan's eyes flared, now obviously angry. "Why? Would admitting it make him less of a noble man? Is he afraid it's not worthy enough of the _King _to be friends with a servant…"

"No, not that… His _wife_ used to be a servant, he would never… no!" Merlin raised his voice in Arthur's defense.

"Arth-_The King_ is just… he is a _great _man, I know it..." he continued with much less heat in his voice. Arthur had to be. He was _destined_ for it.

"He'll be the greatest _King_ the world has ever seen… He cares _so much_ for his people…"

"Didn't care enough for you, though." Lucan deadpanned. "Declan said that not long before he had found you collapsed, he had heard the King yelling at you…"

Merlin closed his eyes, feeling resigned at the reminder of his previous encounter with the King. Still, he tried to find an excuse.

"He- he is stressed. The people are growing hungry and the news about Morgana… he is under a lot of pressure that's all," he finished, not very convincingly.

The Prince regarded him for a moment and when he opened his mouth to speak his voice came out gentle and soothing. A lot like Lancelot's did once.

"You are a very loyal friend, Merlin. You obviously care a great deal for your King. I wonder though, what about yourself? Do you think of yourself _at all_?" he sounded genuinely curious, even troubled.

Merlin found himself startled by the question.

"I-I'm not _important_. Arthur's life is worth thousands of mine," he replied, feeling the weight of his destiny heavy on his shoulders. "I would gladly die for him."

He saw Lucan shaking his head. He was wearing that unreadable expression again.

"Don't undermine the value of your own life, Merlin…"

Merlin lifted his eyes, the Prince's words striking a cord of truth deep inside him.

The next moment, both he and Lucan were startled when the door opened and Declan stepped inside the room. He was carrying a tray from the kitchens, containing some fruit and a bowl of chicken broth, by the smell of it.

"Look who's finally decided joined us! How are you, lad? Are you feeling any better?" he asked friendly, bringing the tray to the bed and leaving it beside the tired-looking servant. "Here, I _stole_ these from the Palace Kitchen while the Cook wasn't looking. A terrifying woman that one, I tell you… Come on, eat up!" he finished, smiling brightly to him.

Merlin took an apple and bit. _Mmm…Food…_

The Prince got up and smiled at his manservant. "I should probably go back to the others. I don't think I'll be long. You should stay with him, make sure he eats and rests," he said, more of a suggestion than an order.

Declan nodded and Lucan departed, after wishing Merlin a quick recovery.

It was then that it dawned on Merlin what the Prince's words meant.

"The feast hasn't ended yet? How long was I out…? I should go back to my post, they'd be looking for me…" he moved to get off the bed.

"You're staying _here_ until you finish your meal and then I'm taking you to your room," Declan stated, "I've arranged for another to replace you for the night… Don't worry, you weren't out for long, just half an hour, give or take a few minutes…"

Merlin was left wondering how the Prince of Ostia had ended up watching over him, but decided not to ask anything more and simply enjoy the meal offered to him.

* * *

Merlin returned to the Physician's Chambers alone, having convinced Declan that he was well enough to walk without fainting and that he wouldn't attempt going back at the Great Hall. When he was in the confines of his room, he sat on the edge of the bed and contemplated the night's events.

He found himself very intrigued by the Prince of Ostia. He was repeating their conversation in his head, again and again, surprised to find he was getting more and more affected by the other man's words. He had sounded so genuine, so _caring_. Merlin's heart ached when he thought of the last time someone had cared so much for him. It had been Lancelot, of course, the one person who knew him for who he really was and thought highly of him for that. Sure, Gaius knew as well, but the old man's relationship with Merlin was different. He was more like family than a friend, more like a father. And he couldn't understand, not ever truly understand what if felt like to be so close to your dream and yet so very far at the same time. Lancelot, though, did. And strangely enough, Prince Lucan gave the impression that he did as well.

Then, there were the news about Morgana. When it came to that rumor, he was certain about one thing only. He needed more information and he needed it _fast_.

Deciding it was time to start acting; Merlin got up and went to his table. He took out a piece of parchment and a quill and started writing in a hurry.

When he finished the letter, he folded it twice and held it up in front of the half-melted candle. He concentrated on the spell and set the paper alight.

"_**Ic beodar brond niman min giedd hwær Ic asendan man"**_

He finished the spell, sensing his eyes heat up when they turned gold, the burning letter vanishing from his raised hand.

Soon he would get some answers.

* * *

The following day, the talks had begun in earnest. After hours sitting on the council, listening to everyone's opinions, Arthur finally had enough of hearing nonsense. He regarded Bayard with a cold glare.

"I don't think that my people would appreciate what you're suggesting, my Lord. My position remains firm on the matter. You all have agreed the provisions would be offered according to the size of your harvest, not the size of your Kingdom, why should the trading conditions be any different. I thought I made myself perfectly clear on that already…" he said, sounding as annoyed as he felt.

"The deal is fair, Bayard, even _you_ have to admit that," said Queen Annis, raising her brow in a slightly challenging way that made the other ruler lower his gaze.

By Arthur's side, Gwen took her husband's hand in hers, in an effort to give him support. He sighed inwardly. The negotiations were going on so long, but still they had a lot of ground to cover. Arthur looked at the faces around him. It was almost time for lunch, and the tired looks some of the other participants of the council gave him made him think they could all use a break.

"Perhaps it would be best if we were to take a small recess. We shall continue in a few hours."

The other leaders were quick to agree and soon they were dispersing in the room, happy to leave their previous topic of discussion behind.

The thought angered the young King of Camelot more than he'd imagined it would. There they were, the most powerful people of the land, talking and laughing, while the citizens of Camelot were on the verge of starvation. To think he had to feed all those Kings and Queens in the lavish way they were all so used to, when there were children in the lower town that were getting sick from malnutrition, it made him almost hate himself.

Guinevere touched him lightly on the arm, reminding him to focus on the task before him.

_Thank God for Guinevere… I have no idea what I would have done if it wasn't for her grounding me._

He offered his wife a tired smile. He led the way, heading out of the council rooms to the smaller dining hall that had been prepared for their lunch, while the others followed swiftly. Arthur, being the host, sat on the head of the table, and immediately moved for his cup. He had found himself drinking a lot more than usual these past few days. Emptying it in one go, he raised his hand for Merlin to fill it. The servant moved silently and offered him a disapproving look the King deliberately ignored.

The conversation diminished somewhat when the food arrived. Arthur ate in brooding silence, knowing as a host he should keep up with the pretenses but feeling unable to do so. Thankfully Gwen was proving herself invaluable while chatting merrily with Mithian –_who would have thought those two would hit it off?_- and generally providing with enough conversation to please their visitors.

Arthur's mind drifted off to the previous day's revelations. He hadn't allowed the thoughts of Morgana's possible demise to enter his mind during the negotiations, but now he found himself unable to push the matter aside any more.

His sister had taken over the throne twice, had tried to kill him and his friends numerous times, but still the thought of her dead _disturbed_ him. He couldn't help it. He didn't know why. She had long ago stopped being the compassionate and selfless creature he had grown up with. In a way, that Morgana had died years ago. And yet, even if she was now a venomous shell of her old self, imagining her dead… he just couldn't do it.

Merlin placed a plate of fruit in front of him. Arthur took a moment to quietly observe his manservant. He looked a little out of sorts. He thought of his reaction last night._ Perhaps the idiot feels_ _scolded_. He should know better than to take it at heart. Still, Arthur had realized he was behaving perhaps a little harshly towards his friend. When Gwen reprimanded him about it a few days ago, he had secretly felt ashamed. He knew it wasn't Merlin's fault, the man was doing his job as incompetently as ever, but he couldn't stop himself from lashing out. He couldn't afford doing it on anyone else, even the knights' trainings had stopped due to the talks for the treaty.

_Merlin will just have to put up with this for a little while longer, just like I do with all of them. _

The King knew what he had told his wife back then was right. Merlin was always there for him, he was always the one to see him at his best or at his worst. He would endure Arthur's good or foul mood as he has done many a time.

_I should give him an evening off when this is over,_ he mused silently. _Actually, by the time these negotiations finish, we could all use some rest._

* * *

Merlin held the sheets close while he passed two of Alined's knights in the halls. The visiting King was inside the council, like all others, so Merlin couldn't think of a better time to sneak into his rooms.

Once outside of the doors, he checked briefly if anyone was around and muttered a spell to get inside. He quickly closed the door behind him, and dropped the sheets he had brought as a pretense in case he'd bump into anyone out in the hall way.

He eyed the room carefully. Deciding he should read Alined's papers first, since they could contain precious information regarding lots of things, the truth about Morgana for one, he went to the desk first.

The warlock looked through the various documents placed on top of the wooden piece of furniture. They were more or less useless, though he did found out Alined had apparently both a wife _and_ a mistress. And that he thought Arthur was extremely handsome.

_No comment. Just… no._

He went to the wardrobe next. Inside he found something a little more promising. It was a small wooden box with an iron lock on it. He shook the item slightly, and heard a clear gurgling sound coming from within.

The warlock's eyes turned to gold and the small box opened, revealing a set of glass vials resting in rich velvet.

Just as he was about to take one of the items in hand, he heard the sound of someone at the door. Quickly he put the box back in the closet and got up. That was when the door opened and in came the visiting King's pet sorcerer, Trickler.

"Look what we have here! Why, it's the King's manservant, isn't it right?" the sleazy man asked. Merlin who had frozen on spot initially opted to go for the easiest way out.

"I just brought you clean sheets, I thought the King would like it…" he said acting appropriately guileless.

The other man lifted an eyebrow. "Did you, now? May I ask what they are doing _on the floor_…?" he said, smiling in a way that said he knew very well Merlin was lying.

"I dropped them," he replied coldly, almost done with the pretense.

"Well, thank you so much for the thoughtful gesture, I'm afraid I have to ask you to leave now," the sorcerer told Merlin, urging him with a swift hand movement to the door. Merlin took the chance to get out eagerly.

"One last question though, if you wouldn't mind me asking… How did you _get in_?" he heard Trickler ask, as he touched the door knob.

"It was unlocked," Merlin replied, not even bothering to turn, and quickly got out.

* * *

As soon as the boy was gone, Trickler checked the closet. The box Morgana had given him was there, though it wasn't where he had originally placed it, under a pile of old garments, but at the other side of the furniture.

_That sly little weasel… He was snooping around! _

He grinned at the thought of the boy getting caught in the act. _Amateurs_…

His grin fell the moment he saw the box's lid was ajar.

Now _that_ he had most definitely _not_ forgotten to lock.

_Well, well, well… The King's little manservant has _magic_. _

_Who would have thought?_

Trickler's eyes sparkled with mirth. Finally some progress! When Alined would returned to his rooms that evening, after hours of talks about treaties and agreements, his servant was going to greet him with the most wonderful of news.

He had finally discovered the secret sorcerer of Camelot.

* * *

Declan laughed good-naturedly and gave the knight a friendly shove on the shoulder.

"It's the bloody truth, alright! Though his Royal Highness will have my hide if word got out that he hadn't completed the oh-so-mystifying-rite-of-passage and whatnot on his _own_… But that's Arthur for ya…" Sir Gwaine snorted, almost causing the ale to splatter off his nostrils.

"Is that right?" the Druid asked, the mirth evident in his voice. "Well, in that case, Sir Gwaine, I can assure you I'm _very_ trustworthy… How about another one?" he added, lifting his hand so the tavern wench could spot him.

"My treat of course…" he said as he reached for his pouch. Gwaine shot him a drunken smile.

"Wouldn't be right if I said no, now, would it?" he joked, his eyes drifting to the serving girl who'd just placed the next tankard in front of him.

Declan watched as the knight of Camelot swallowed down generous gulps of ale, and then let out a satisfied sigh.

"Where was I?" the intoxicated man asked him.

Declan frowned, pretending to think for a bit, before he answered.

"I think you were just telling me of your adventure in the Perilous Lands…"

"Oh, right… Well, that's nothing compared to this one though. We were on our way to _the Isle of the Blessed_…"

Declan smiled in satisfaction. Good thing he decided to visit the tavern.

* * *

Lucan lay half asleep in his quarters, when Declan returned from the tavern in the wee hours of the morning and reported everything he learned back to the Prince.

The Druid had already managed to get every piece of information available from the palace servants regarding both the King and Merlin, but the tales that the knight had shared with him were unique in their own way. They shed a light to the warlock's relationship with the King Lucan wouldn't have known otherwise.

It all came down, though, to the same conclusion. Emrys had reached a dead-end in regards to his destiny. Somewhere along the way, things had stop working out the way they should.

Lucan could remember it so clearly, even now. Like it had been his own memories he'd seen, and not the ones of a stranger.

"_Are you absolutely certain you want this, Sire?" he heard Declan's worried voice. When he turned to meet him, the Druid's eyes betrayed a deep concern for his friend._

"_I am, Declan. I have to do it. It's been two years now and still no word things have changed… I'm afraid there is no other way. Your people can't continue living like this. I can't continue not knowing the truth anymore…" he trailed off, unsure of what else to say to convince the older man._

_Declan nodded slightly, his shoulders stiff, but his head held high. He unsheathed the dagger from his belt and gave it to him._

"_Use this if you must," he added._

"_Thank you, my friend," Lucan said as he accepted the offer._

_When the ceremony started, after verifying his pure intent and bravery of heart with the vows, he ended up kneeling on the forest floor, surrounded by Druids chanting deep in concentration. He held the dagger with his right hand and waited. When the time came, the elder gestured to him and he used the elegant weapon to slice his left palm, slowly, blood oozing from the deep cut._

_And then… then came the visions._

_First thing he saw was a small skinny, black haired boy, sobbing in his mother's lap while the woman gently caressed his head. Then, the boy was older, with pale skin and big blue eyes, running away from a fallen tree while one of his friends watched from the distance, laughing loudly. Next, the mother again, kissing him goodbye. Then came the arrival in the great city. He could feel the emotions the boy experienced. The wonder, the confusion, the fear. And then he heard it for the first time. The booming voice of the beast, the dragon, calling for the young boy, talking to him about destiny. Then he saw the blond prince, objecting to his father's decision of rewarding. And the images got faster and the emotions deeper, and soon Lucan was lost in a turmoil of thoughts and memories that did not belong to him, feelings he hadn't felt, that were so intense he could barely breathe. It only got worse, and, in the end, it was Declan who broke the spell first, running towards his friend's writhing form and bringing him out of the trance._

Lucan remembered clearly the first thing he'd thought when he had regained his consciousness, and that was that he needed to act, and to act _fast_.

And now, finally, that time had _come_.

* * *

"We have found him, my lady…" Alined said with a satisfied glint in his eye.

"Already?" Morgana wondered. "Very well, where was he then? Where had Emrys been hiding all this time?"

"Right under the King's nose. He is disguised, posing as a servant."

The witch's shock is visible, even from the blurred image of the mirror. "Who is he then? How didn't anyone recognize him?" she asked impatiently, her tone still disbelieving.

"He is the King's manservant. Merlin, I believe is the name. My sorcerer has proof he used magic to sneak into my rooms…"

She exploded, not letting him finish the sentence.

"MERLIN? Merlin has _magic_ you say? Impossible! I'm sure I would have _at least_ suspected…"

"But he has! He opened the box with the vials, and the only key was upon me at that time…"the king said, holding the mirror closer, trying to keep his voice as low as possible.

Inside, the image of Morgana was a terrifying sight to behold. Her eyes were wide, golden sparks visible around her irises, her lips half open, teeth clasped tightly while she worked to calm herself down enough so that she could speak again.

When she did, her voice was like _ice_.

"If that is true, then _do it_ as soon as you can." She said with an air of finality.

"And, Alined," she added while her image slowly faded from the glass, "tell your sorcerer to make it _as painful as possible_…"

* * *

Merlin had a bad feeling. He was having it all morning, and it was certainly distracting him from his duties, resulting in him having been yelled at twice already, and it wasn't even lunch time yet.

They were all gathered in the Great Hall, where this morning he and a couple of other servants had placed the council room table. It was where the signing of the trading agreement would take place, and apparently it was a circumstance that demanded more space than the barely adequate council room.

They were all sitting on the table, with Arthur once again at the head, though this time Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth was standing next to him, the long, elegantly written parchment in his hands, waiting for all the allies to sign. Behind each royal was a servant. Merlin could see Trickler dancing on the spot he occupied, seeming like he was anticipating something.

The young warlock frowned. He should be careful. Next to him, Declan gave him a reassuring smile.

The ceremony proceeded relatively quickly. Annis signed first, stating this agreement would prove most profitable for all partners involved. Next was Bayard, who more or less agreed. Mithian signed in the name of her father, boldly announcing Nemeth would agree to send as many provisions as it could to ease Camelot's predicament. Alined signed without saying nothing other than he was happy to be a part of such a historic moment.

That left only two signatures missing.

Lucan's and finally Arthur's.

When Sir Geoffrey approached him, Prince Lucan shook his head and held up his hand, stopping the elder man from coming closer.

Everyone around stirred with interest at the Prince's actions, Arthur even started to rise but Lucan spoke first.

"Please, be patient. I would like to take a chance to say some things first, before I sign this treaty, which I will, you can be sure of that…" he said formally and got up.

Merlin felt the unease rise in him. No one else seemed to feel the same though. Instead there were only curious faces all around the table.

The Prince took a small pouch from his belt and opened it slowly. He removed a small bundle of cloth, neatly tucked around a round object.

"This is an item of great value," he said, placing the object on the table before him. Merlin found himself both drawn and at the same time afraid at the prospect of facing what was hidden beneath the thick fabric.

He heard it then, the sound of someone closing in from behind him and somewhere in his mind his instincts recognized that as a _threat_, but the bigger part of his conscious was completely absorbed by the mesmerizing item calling him from where it lay at the edge of the table.

Then, Lucan lifted the cloth and the world as Merlin knew it ended.

* * *

A/N: Here's the translation for the spell: _**"Ic beodar brond niman min giedd hwær Ic asendan man"**_ is my poor attempt to _say "__**I command fire to take my words to where I send them"**_using an online Old English dictionary.

May I just add: BWAHAHAHHAAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA…_Cliffhanger!_

Next chapter is where _everything_ changes. Just a small teaser… it will be called _**Disillusionment**_… Care to guess why?

Please leave me a review because, you know… Review=Happy me=Quicker updates !


	5. Chapter 4: Disillusionment

A/N: First, an anonymous reviewer referred to Trickler finding out Merlin's magic and figuring he is Emrys as a plothole. Because someone mentioned something similar in another review, let me please try and explain my reasoning behind it.

The way I think of it, it's not a plothole. Trickler was looking for Emrys, a sorcerer known to protect the King, (so one can assume if he's in Camelot, he is somewhere _near_ the King, or at least living in the palace) and he found out that a man who he had already suspected to have messed with his plans against Camelot once (the look he gave him in s2e10 _Sweet Dreams_ when he expected to find Vivian in Arthur's room was plain suspicion, imho), had in fact magic _and_ was snooping around obviously suspicious of them and of their intentions. Also, Morgana had already told them all she knew about Emrys, and that included the fact that Gaius knows Emrys' real identity. Merlin is Gaius' ward_,_ he _lives_ with him. It's the logical conclusion for Trickler to connect the dots from Merlin to Emrys given those facts.

Besides, wouldn't it be _too_ much of a coincidence for Merlin to be some other_,_ random sorcerer who is connected to Gaius _and_ protects Arthur, and _not _Emrys? I mean, come on, how many secret sorcerer-protectors (that are also close to Gaius) can Camelot have?

At least that was Trickler's and Alined's reasoning in my mind. And lastly, don't forget that in the series, episode 4x13 to be precise, when Agravaine found out Merlin had magic, the_ first _thing he said to him was: "So it's you, you are Emrys!". It's basically the same logic. And that was _canon_.

Perhaps it wasn't written clearly enough, though I was going to mention it later on in the story.

I hope my answer satisfies you all and I'm really sorry for it being so _long!_ :)

Now, on to the story… People seem to really like Lucan. Well, I'm very curious as to what you'll think of him after _this_.

There is a song by _Epica_ that I thought fitted perfectly with the chapter: The Phantom Agony (the 9 minute version).

Disclaimer: I don't own Epica, their songs or _Merlin_.

* * *

_The future doesn't pass and the past won't overtake the present,_

_All that remains is an obsolete illusion._

"The Phantom Agony"

Epica

**Chapter 4: Disillusionment **

"This is an object of great value…"

Lucan said, surveying the room, having just placed the covered stone on the table. His calm countenance reflected none of the inner turmoil he was experiencing. Doubt and worry crept into the recesses of his mind.

His eyes fell on Declan who gave him a slow nod, his eyebrows raised with meaning, signaling he was ready to go. The Prince's hand unconsciously moved to his chest in order to check on the small pendant tucked under his clothes.

_Right. This is it. _

He looked at the faces before him, varying from simply curious to almost excited at the prospect of finding out what lay beneath the thick fabric. Oddly, he felt a strange sense of guild. He felt _bad_ for them. Especially Arthur's young Queen. She looked so innocent and content sitting there amongst friends and allies.

Soon she would not be.

Finally, his gaze rested on the face of King Arthur's manservant. Merlin's attention was solely focused on the object he had just procured. The Prince's unease returned tenfold, what if the warlock could sense the stone's power and tried to intervene?

He gulped. He had to go through with this as quickly as possible.

He concentrated on the words he had rehearsed in his head so many times. He could do this.

His hand lifted to uncover the item. The smooth black surface of the stone was reflecting the light in the room, gleaming in the sunlight, attracting everyone's attention. He took courage from the sight of a completely mesmerized Merlin and said the command for the stone, his voice ringing loud and clear in the silence of the Great Hall.

**"**_**Beon giet!"**_ he said and the stone shone brightly before him.

At the sound of those two words, all eyes turned towards him unbelieving. Lucan's eyes immediately seeked Merlin's. He found the warlock staring incredulously, though, thankfully, he did not seem to be angry.

Through the startled shouts that started surrounding him, Arthur's voice boomed, his tone furious and commanding.

"What did you do? Was it _**magic**_?" the King said, moving to stand up and probably grab for his sword as well. His eyes went wide at the realization that he couldn't move from his seat. The others soon came to the same conclusion, if Lucan could judge from the mistrust and fear that began to dawn on their faces.

"Please, I ask you to be patient, Arthur," he said urgently. "I promise none of you will be harmed in any way. I just need to say some things and make sure everyone will listen to me before they act…"

The King's grim expression turned into an ice cold glare, the intent clear in his stone hard expression when he didn't wait for the other man to finish.

"GUARDS!" he yelled, despite the Prince's request for patience. Lucan reacted immediately, gesturing towards Declan, for the Druid to make sure they weren't going to be interrupted, while he hissed another command to the stone.

**"**_**Beon átemian!"**_

The rising voices of protest from the Kings, Queens and all the others in the Hall vanished at once, leaving the Great Hall deathly silent, with the exception of the loud banging noise coming from the main doors.

He turned to Declan to see the Druid standing in front of the double doors with a raised hand. His whispered words reached the Prince's ears despite the distance, due to the general lack of sound. The older man turned to his Prince and gave a small nod to confirm they were clear to continue.

_The hard way it is, then._

Lucan took a deep breath and turned to face his audience.

_Showtime_.

* * *

Merlin stared completely amazed at the sight before him. Lucan, the _Prince_ _of Ostia,_ had just used _magic_ in front of the entire council. In front of _Arthur, _the ruler of the Kingdom that notoriously hunted all sorcerers.

His senses had come back once the effect of the stone had fallen upon all of them. He soon discovered that all his magic was entirely focused on fighting the invasive force, struggling to break him free from the enchantment. But he could feel the effort would be great. The power of the magical item was enormous, he would have to try his hardest in order to be released. Though he now was in a much better state than the previous night, solely due to the care of Prince Lucan and his manservant, he still wasn't well enough for the struggle not to have a considerable toll on him.

He tried to calm his racing mind by reminding himself that Lucan never acted in any way threatening towards either Camelot or its rulers.

_Or did he? He didn't seem to be a big fan of Arthur's, _he realized, concern filling his heart.

_Can you blame him though? He had some fairly good points_, the warlock heard a small voice in his head object to his previous reasoning.

He was drawn out of his thoughts when the Prince turned to face the Council members once more.

"As I was trying to tell you before I was _rudely_ interrupted, I have something very important to say. In fact, that is the main reason I came to Camelot, this treaty being a convenient excuse for me to visit," he admitted.

"But first things first," Lucan said, approaching the table, but not taking a seat. "As you have all probably realized by now, Ostia is a kingdom that does not persecute the use of magic. In fact, through the years it has become a shelter, a sanctuary if you must, for many of the people that are being driven out off your lands. It's a secret that has been guarded closely by the Druids for years. I was raised believing that a magic user is no different than any man, and thus shouldn't be treated either better or worse for it. We live by those rules and thus we've been blessed with years of peace and prosperity… But for all our good fortune, we could never turn our backs to the never-ending massacre that still roams the land and originates from the kingdom of Camelot…" he turned pointedly looking at Arthur's reactions.

Merlin found himself losing his concentration in breaking the binding spell while the Prince spoke. He was surprised to learn of a Kingdom were magic was welcomed instead of persecuted. Hearing all this information, the warlock couldn't help but wonder what the true motive behind the royal's actions was.

His thoughts were interrupted by another loud bang at the doors, followed by shouting. They were probably beginning to raise the alarm out there…

Lucan paid no heed to them, continuing with his speech, his face fully turned to meet Arthur's hard stare.

"Now, Camelot… _There's_ a place that, for the past years, has suffered a lot in the hands of either magic users or magical creatures … I would say it was all because of the Great Purge and Uther's crimes against the magical community, but I am _sure_ my words would fall on deaf ears. So I will just continue with my story," he added with a note of sarcasm.

"Meanwhile," he said, as another bout of shouts reached their ears, "these last years, tales of the young Prince Arthur's _many a valiant_ achievements have reached us, as well as the rest of Albion, I'm sure. Arthur the _gallant_, the man that won every tournament, defeated every single foe he met, singlehandedly saved the Kingdom from_ a dragon_, and so on…"

Merlin felt cold sweat upon his forehead. The irony in the other mans words was too great, too _specific,_ for it to be a coincidence. _What_ _does he know?_

The warlock tried to fight a panic attack. He didn't have time for that, he needed to get free. It was the only way he could stop whatever Lucan wanted to do, before it was too late.

_Too late for whom, though? Me, Lucan or Arthur?_

The Prince continued relentless.

"You must forgive my tone, but you need to understand that I come from a Kingdom where knowledge about magic _is_ available to those who seek it. So, imagine our collective astonishment at hearing of these deeds that we all knew very well could only be successfully performed with the use of _magic_. And there were _a lot_ of them, believe me. Take the Questing Beast, for example. Rumors said Arthur had slaughtered it after being bitten, when in fact it's known to be a creature that can only be defeated by magic. And not just ordinary magic, but extremely _powerful_ one. Not to mention the fact that a bite from the beast means certain death. No _royal_ exceptions, unless magic is involved, that is. Magic from the Center of the Old Religion itself. And it wasn't the only case that it did. The list goes on and on…"

While Lucan paused for effect, Merlin couldn't believe where this whole thing was going.

_He knows about the magic. He knows._

_What if he knows about **me **as well?_

He needed to get out fast. He started pushing harder, his magic roaring inside him, coming to battle the oppressive force. Slowly, he could feel his efforts were paying off, though he didn't know if he could get free in time to stop Lucan from saying anything more dangerous.

"Now, to understand this next part you need to know a few things about the Druids' legends and prophecies."

_Oh no…_

"Amongst the oldest, most important of them, is one that refers to _Emrys_, the most powerful sorcerer ever to walk the earth. He is told to have a great destiny and that is to return magic to the realms and unite them all under the name of Albion."

_This can't be happening…_

"He isn't supposed to do this alone, though. In the old prophecies, he stands by the side of another figure of legend, the Once and Future King, the one destined to be the greatest King the world will ever see. These two will work together to bring forth the time that the poets speak of. The time of _Albion_. A prosperous and peaceful Land, where magic will flourish once more, one that will forever be praised throughout history."

_Please let him not know…_

"The reason I came to Camelot is a man that is standing in this room right now. He is the man the Druids speak of in their prophecies; he is the most powerful warlock to ever live. He is Emrys, though, here, he is known as _Merlin_. "

Merlin felt his heart stop as his name dropped out of the Prince's lips. For a moment, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, he couldn't possibly process what had just happened.

_Merlin. _

Lucan knew. He _knew_. They_ all _did.

Oh God, _Arthur_ knew.

He felt faint.

His eyes were hazy when they met with the Prince's. Lucan's attention was now completely focused on Merlin, and the warlock found himself lost in intensity between them. It was like everything else had faded in the background, Arthur, Gwen, the binding spell, all forgotten. Somewhere in the corners of his mind though, his magic still raged on against the stone's enchantment, breaking it bit by bit, slowly but steadily.

"I came for _you,_ Merlin," the Prince addressed him, suddenly his voice adopting a more urgent tone, "I came because I was afraid you've _lost_ your way. And for what I've seen with my own eyes, it seems like my greatest fear is true. That all these years, you have been following the wrong path, Emrys."

The warlock stared at the man in confusion, not understanding what he was suggesting. How could he have lost his way? He had done everything in his power to make sure Arthur would end up the fair and just King he is destined to be. Yes, there had been many things he'd regretted, mistakes that he had made, but he had already paid the price for them.

As if sensing Merlin's confusion, Lucan came closer and carefully placed a hand on the unmoving man's shoulder.

"Merlin, there is no doubt you are Emrys. Every magical creature can sense that. That name is your birthright, is a part of your inheritance, just like your Dragonlord abilities are. You were born this way, special. But I believe, I _know,_ that you're heading towards the wrong path. Because, Merlin… Arthur is _not_ the Once and Future King."

The words sounded strange to the young warlock, almost foreign. He felt his power flair inside him and realized that somewhere between the shock of being revealed and the incredulity at Lucan's proclamations, the spell that had been binding him had been defeated by his magic.

He couldn't bother to pretend he was still affected. He couldn't let him say those things, they didn't make sense. They _couldn't_.

Merlin thought for a moment what he would have to tell Arthur to convince him Lucan had been mistaken. To deny that he was Emrys.

_That he was magic_.

The thought of his lie, though familiar in its nature, made him feel _sick_.

"Wh-what do you mean?" he asked finally, aware that the other's would take his sudden ability to talk as a confirmation of him having magic. He took a wobbling step away from the prince.

Lucan visibly paled, seeing that Merlin was now free, but he didn't move to either reach or get away from the warlock.

"Think about it, Merlin. Arthur is King now. He has been for nearly _three_ _years_. Is Albion anywhere near being created? Is magic anywhere near being freed?" he stopped, looking like he was gathering his strength for what would come next.  
Lucan stepped forward.

"If you could _choose_, would you have ever considered _Arthur_ for the title of the greatest King of All?" he asked carefully.

"Of course I would. He _is_," came Merlin's immediate response.

"Is he, now? ... _Why_, Merlin? Tell me _what has he done_ to make you believe this? What has he done that is _worthy_ of this title, this honour?" the Prince insisted.

Merlin was unsure of what the other man suggested.

"It isn't an honour, Arthur was destined, he was born-"

Lucan cut in. "He was born a _prince_. Like me. Like a lot of others. What has he _done_ to make him stand out as the Once and Future King?" he said again, the frustration obvious in his voice.

Merlin was startled. For a moment he couldn't think of an answer. Then it hit him. It was Arthur's _destiny._

"The dra-_Kilgharrah _said_…"_

"_Kilgharrah!" _Lucan finally exploded. "That's the _dragon_, isn't it? The dragon told you this, right?" he was now furious, his expression almost frightening the young warlock. "How it was your destiny to help Arthur become this Great King, to _change_ him. _Don't you see_, _Merlin_? He lied to you! Manipulated you into thinking the spoilt Prince of Camelot was your _destiny_…" he spat that last word like it was venom in his mouth.

Merlin shook his head, closing his eyes trying to deny the accusations.

"No… No!" he exclaimed painfully. He squinted his eyes, tilting his head to the side, trying to stop tears from swelling in them. "He would _never_…"

"What?" Lucan said relentlessly. "He wouldn't _do that_? That is the _same_ dragon that tricked you into almost killing your own mother, Merlin! The same dragon who led you to poison your friend, who tried to convince you to kill a _small_ _child_, who attacked the city after he'd _blackmailed_ you into helping him escape… He _wouldn't do that?"_ he said bitingly.

He took a step towards the warlock. Merlin was almost shaking, shocked by the turn of events and the difficult conversation they were now having.

"I'm sorry, Merlin, but you're a fool if you believe that. That dragon needed Emrys to stay and help him and he found the best way to do it… He _used_ you, read your insecurities, your fear of your power, and gave you what he could plainly see you were craving for_. A purpose_. Only it was one that suited _him_ best."

The truth in the man's voice was hitting Merlin hard.

"He…" the warlock tried to say but found his voice failing him. Lucan had clearly deflated and was now eyeing him with a concerned look.

It was then that the warning bells started tolling. Merlin was startled to hear them. The rest of the world was seeming so far away until that moment.

The warlock gulped, trying to lessen the knob in his throat.

"Arthur is a _good king…" _he managed, almost pleadingly.

Behind Lucan, Declan had gone back to the doors and was muttering another incantation. Merlin found he didn't want to turn his head to look at the council table. He wanted to pretend just a little while longer that there was no one else there. No one else that'd heard what they'd said.

Lucan didn't pay any attention to the new sound coming from the outside. He continued as if nothing had interrupted them.

"Allow me to object to that. Arthur is a _lucky_ King. Lucky to have had you by his side for all this time. What good has he done that hadn't been at the very least _suggested_ by _you_? How many times did you save his life and the future of the entire Kingdom only to have _him_ take all the credit? Or better yet, how many times did he cast away your advice only for you to be proven correct in the end? Countless mistakes, and yet he still hasn't learned his lesson… are those the characteristics of a _good_ King?"

All those times flashed before the warlock's eyes. The frustration he'd felt when Arthur wouldn't listen, the disappointment when he'd been mocked for being a coward. The worry for his friend's life.

_Friend._

"He's changed," he tried in a last, half-hearted effort. "He _isn't_ like that anymore…"

But Lucan, the man he had only known for no more than three days, already could see straight through him.

"I didn't see anything different in his behavior towards you. He still treats you the same, thinks of you as the fool, the idiot. You can't deny this, Merlin… I saw it with my own eyes."

And he couldn't, not really. He couldn't deny the hurt he'd felt, he'd been constantly feeling whenever Arthur belittled him, made fun of him or worse, cast him away.

And he had done it _so many times_.

Merlin couldn't tell him he wasn't incompetent then. He couldn't tell him he wasn't the idiot. Not without the king finding out about his magic.

_But he knows now, doesn't he?_

The warlock's knees gave out then. He buried his face in the palms of his hands, trying not to fall apart. In a blink of an eye, Lucan was there beside him.

"Please…" Merlin asked in a small voice. "Why do you even _do_ this? How do you _know_ all these things? The amount of _details_…" he trailed off, lifting his face to look at the man.

"If you two care to _finish_, there's an awful amount of people gathering on the other side of this room, and I _really_ wouldn't want to be here when the blocking spell wears off!" Declan's voice came from afar. True to his claim, a loud commotion could be heard from outside of the room.

Lucan turned to his manservant and gave him a hard look, then answered Merlin's plead honestly. "What does it matter? Magic, that's how. It's not important."

He took hold of Merlin's arms and helped the broken man get to his feet, before he continued.

"What's important is for _you_ to understand one thing: That _you are wasting your life_ here, Merlin. You are _miles_ away from achieving your destiny. Even after all these years in his service, you still haven't revealed your true self to Arthur. Deep inside, you've always known it was because he would never accept you. Not after losing his mother _and_ father to magic. From what I've heard, I'm assuming the old sorcerer had been, in fact, you and that something went wrong… You were _there, _Merlin. You saw firsthand his hatred of magic being renewed."

The warlock's head lowered, closing his eyes from the pain the harsh truth was filling him with. When Uther had died, Merlin's faith that magic could be free had almost completely died with him. Then, Arthur had gone and admitted that the Druids should be treated with respect, and the warlock had allowed himself to hope once more. But it had been years since that fateful night, and the King of Camelot had shown no signs he remembered his promise.

He heard Lucan speaking to him in a low deadpanned voice.

"Look at him now. Tell me what do you think will happen if I cover the stone right now and end the spell. Do you think he'll thank you for all you've done for him, accept you, _reward you_, and return magic to the land?"

Merlin couldn't find it in himself to either look or answer.

"No. _I'll_ tell you what he'll do. He'll either arrest you, burn you, or _banish_ you… I opt for the latter," Lucan said.

He sighed. "You're _not welcome _here, Merlin. You've _never_ been. You need to live somewhere where your magic will be able to grow, to _shine_. You can't truly _be_ Emrys when you're too busy running around as a servant to an ungrateful, _unworthy_ King."

Merlin could almost hear Arthur's voice shouting at him, calling him names.

Condescending, disregarding, degrading.

It had been so long since he'd heard a good word coming out from the King's mouth.

The King of Camelot. His _destiny_.

In fact, when the warlock thought about it, it had been a long time since _anyone_ had truly _cared_ about him, at least more than the casual 'how are you doing'. They never really cared enough to realize it was all an act, playing the happy-go-lucky servant, when in truth the weight of the world was slowly crushing him, his soul.

"Come with me to Ostia," Lucan offered. Merlin wasn't even surprised. He didn't think anything else could surprise him ever again. "It doesn't have to mean anything. I'm not suggesting that _I_ am the Once and Future King. _I don't care_. I just want what's best for _you_… The Once and Future King is whomever _Emrys_ deems worthy, and you have made a_ poor choice_."

Merlin closed his eyes.

"But what about…" he began, his voice hoarse, "_How_ will I know that they'll be safe? They're my _frien-_" he couldn't find it in him to finish that word.

"They'll be fine, I'm sure," Lucan disregarded. "It's been years since anyone has really posed a threat towards Camelot. I'll even sign the trading agreement if you like," he said, and, grabbing the paper from the frozen hands of Sir Geoffrey, he placed a neat signature where he was supposed to.

"There. All set. Camelot will be safe and fed once again… There is nothing else to worry about. Even Morgana is gone."

Declan came to them in a rush.

"The spell is almost failing. I can hear them getting ready! We need to leave now, Lucan," he said hurriedly.

Lucan nodded silently. "Go to the side door and prepare for our escape. Our men probably won't be alone out there…"

He turned to the warlock again. "You need to make your decision now, Merlin."

Merlin felt as the world around him had collapsed. Everything he knew, everything he'd built all those years… Could it really have been for nothing?

He lifted his gaze towards the council table, finally, ready to see the truth of his life for the very first time.

The faces that greeted him were all so different from the one's he'd remembered. In such a small amount of time everything had changed.

He passed Princess Mithian's clouded eyes, Queen Annis' surprised expression, Bayard's definite look of rage and Alined's amused smirk. He didn't care about them, or their servants or anyone _but_ the two main figures.

Gwen was staring at him with her eyes red and wet from sobbing in silence, a sight that almost made the warlock crumble. But it was _Arthur_, _his_ face that Merlin could barely recognize anymore. It was so tense and _unfamiliar_, so _not like_ _him_, that something inside the warlock _shattered_.

Arthur had become a stranger.

* * *

Lucan turned his eyes to the warlock. Merlin looked oblivious to everything that was happening outside of the Hall. The voices of the people gathered there had multiplied and the pounding on the double doors had become almost constant. Lucan could feel their time was running out. Declan's worried glances kept coming.

The Prince could so clearly see what his words had done to the young man in front of him. It was difficult for Lucan to think of Merlin as Emrys when he looked so vulnerable. His frame was trembling like a leaf, his shoulders had dropped and his breath was uneven. But it was his lost expression that nearly had Lucan doubting everything he'd done. He'd done it all for the man's sake. But looking at his face that seemed so dejected, so _broken_, the Prince was starting to feel scared.

He tried to remind himself it's only natural. Merlin's entire world, _years_ of his life, had been rendered pointless. It had all been a masterfully crafted illusion that had, at last, shattered to pieces.

_He'll make the right choice, I know it. He must. _

The doors were shaking now, the rescue party coming closer and closer.

"Merlin…" he tried again, this time more urgently.

The warlock looked at him startled, like he had just woken up from a bad dream. Lucan went up to him but took care not to touch or in any other way disturb him.

"We have no time, Merlin… You need to decide."

Merlin stared at him, unblinking. His dark blue eyes betrayed the raging emotions that were wreaking havoc in his soul. He closed them, tears running down his cheeks freely, and nodded once.

One nod. That was all it took.

Lucan didn't spend a moment to celebrate. He just took the other man's shaking arm in hand and quickly made for the side exit. Declan came and took charge of guiding the shaken warlock to the smaller door.

The Prince hurried to the council table, and turned his head one final time to look at the other nobles. He took the black stone from the table, along with the fabric to cover it again, and left them, knowing that, from the moment he ended the spell, they had mere _minutes_ to make their escape.

Once outside, his strategically placed knights urged them towards the safe route they had managed to maintain in order to take them to their already saddled horses at the stables.

Merlin moved with them looking numb, a mere _ghost_ of his former self, lost and unaware of what was truly going on around him.

Lucan's knights helped him sit the warlock on the back of his horse, and then they were galloping away, as quickly as the freshly rested horses could carry them. They heard the warning bells start their toll again when they had just reached the rims of the lower town, but kept riding on, not minding the commotion they created in their path.

They were making their way to the edge of the forest, just minutes after escaping Camelot's main gates, when the lone frantic rider exited in hot pursuit.

The loud noise of the galloping horses obscured his frantic cries. They didn't hear him shout the name in desperation, though the sound echoed through the fields.

_MERLIN!_

* * *

A/N: Well, that was the most difficult thing I have ever written... Well, please review and tell me what you thought of it! _The magic reveal!_

You have to admit it though, Lucan had some decent points… Poor Merlin didn't even know what hit him.

The translations are_**:**_

_**- Beon giet**_- be still

_**-Beon atemian**_ - be quiet

Oh, and for those of you who might be wondering, the royals were seated at the council table like this: Arthur at the head, on his left side Gwen and on his right Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth who then stood up to pass the treaty to each person, Mithian and Alined on the left side of the table, next to Gwen, and Annis and Bayard on the right side. Lucan was at the far end of the table, opposite Arthur. Merlin was like the other servants somewhere behind his master, though not too close.


	6. Chapter 5: Truth hurts

A/N: First, I want to say a big thank you to everyone who responded to the last chapter!

I really wasn't expecting it… It made me want to write faster so... there!

Now, this chapter perhaps isn't exactly what you expected, but it's kind of necessary… I hope you'll enjoy it!

* * *

**Chapter 5: Truth hurts**

The knock made Mithian's head turn suddenly. She was sitting on the edge of Guinevere's bed, holding a handkerchief in her hands, while the Queen was lying there, awake and still fully dressed from before. When Gwen didn't answer, Mithian heard the door open slowly.

The Princess of Nemeth looked up to see two of Arthur's knights standing awkwardly at the now open door. She recognized one of them as Sir Elyan, Gwen's brother. Gingerly as to not upset her new friend's fragile state, Mithian gestured for them to come in.

Gwen quickly rose to lean on her elbows. Her red and puffy eyes were there for everyone to see, a definite sign that the Queen of Camelot had been crying. She waited for a moment and, after seeing they wouldn't say anything first, she asked in a hoarse voice.

"Has he returned yet?"

The Queen's brother lifted his eyebrow in question. "If you are talking about Arthur, then no. Leon and Percival took off after him almost immediately."

She closed her eyes, clearly fighting not to tear up again. Finally, she nodded.

The other knight, who had until now kept silent, chose to address the matter to the core.

"Gwen, _what's_ going on?" he asked seriously, his tone almost demanding. "Arthur raises the alarm, then we can't get in the Great Hall for almost _half an hour_ and when we finally do, he just _takes off_ without a word. And _you, _you close yourself in your chambers, not able to stop _crying_ about God knows what! For goodness sake, _Bayard has left_, Gwen! He took his men and _left_, ranting like mad about traitors and _sorcerers_! All the while everyone else in the castle has some story or theory as to what happened in the council, each one more ridiculous than the other!"

The Queen didn't react to the knight's verbal attack. Though Mithian was a little shocked at the angry, informal and almost _rude_ way the man had addressed his Queen, she understood his intentions were pure and the familiarity Guinevere allowed this man to show her made the Princess draw the conclusion that, as one of Arthur's closest men, he was the Queen's friend.

Mithian saw that Gwen was again struggling to keep her self control. She tried to intervene.

"Please, Sir Knight. Your Queen is not well right now. Be gentle…" she pleaded, though keeping her posture as straight and commanding as it should be for a royal.

The man frowned but did not repeat his question. Sir Elyan was glaring at him clearly irritated.

She felt Gwen touch her hand.

"It's alright, Mithian. Thank you for everything. But Gwaine… he is right," she said to the other woman, a sad smile on her kind face.

She turned to face the knights, her composure once again regal, though her pain could be easily read in her eyes.

"Has anyone else departed?" she asked.

It was her brother that answered her.

"Annis has locked herself in her chambers and set her knights to guard her entire floor. None of them breathes a word, except that they'll be leaving tomorrow. Alined requested to speak with Arthur as soon as the King is back. There is no sign of Prince Lucan or his knights," he finished.

Gwaine immediately caught both the women's faces tense up at that final statement.

"Lucan _wasn't_ _in_ _the_ _Hall_ when we entered. What…" he paused, his eyes sparkling with recognition and, immediately, dread, "Wait a minute…".

"Gwen." He began cautiously. "Where is _Merlin_?"

Beside him, Sir Elyan too seemed to realize at that moment the strange absence of the King's manservant.

A knock on the door interrupted them. Guinevere called, her voice a little unsteady, for whoever it was to enter.

It was the other two of Arthur's small company of knights, Mithian recognized.

_Sirs Leon and Percival I presume_.

Both Mithian's and Gwen's eyes widened at the sight of them. They were dripping wet, their boots covered in thick mud, their armor glinting in the candle light.

_When did it even get dark?_

"Arthur…?" she heard Gwen ask in a small voice, almost scared.

The two newly arrived knights looked at each other before the older one of the two, Sir Leon, answered.

"He returned with us. He's in his quarters, didn't say anything other than order no one to bother him," he said, unsure of what to make of the King's actions.

"My Lady, what happened? He was chasing after someone, we found him wondering in the forest paths, trying to follow a trail. The rain was already pouring by then, there was no chance of him finding anything and still he insisted. We had to _drag_ him back."

"He _growled_ at me…" the other knight, Percival, cut in.

Gwen didn't look surprised hearing her husband's reaction. She turned her head, staring to the far wall, her expression stoic, almost resigned.

Again, Sir Gwaine was the one who seemed to understand.

"All this has to do with Merlin somehow, doesn't it?" he asked.

As Mithian waited for the Queen to answer, her mind drifted to what she had witnessed mere hours ago.

_Merlin. Arthur's best friend, a sorcerer. Who would have thought? _

Gwen's voice brought the Princess out of her small reverie.

"Yes, Gwaine. It has."

She eyed them carefully, as if evaluating the situation. She made her decision and gestured for the knights to sit down.

"Merlin has left."

* * *

Gwen saw the confusion written on her friends' faces. Only Gwaine's expression had gone darker, a frown marring his forehead. Beside her, she felt Mithian sifting slightly towards her, as if trying to protect her from the knights' reactions.

Leon asked, voicing what most of them were thinking.

"Left to go _where_ exactly?"

Guinevere took a deep breath steeling herself. "He left _us_. He escaped with Prince Lucan, to Ostia, I presume."

"He _escaped_… What are you talking about, Gwen?" Elyan asked incredulously.

She opened her mouth to answer but Gwaine beat her to it.

"What happened at the Great Hall, Your Majesty?" he asked coldly.

She met his hard eyes with resolute. She had gone through a lot during the last hours. She didn't need Gwaine's childish petulance right now. She took a deep breath, wondering how she could say this.

_Where do I even begin?_

"Merlin…" she started, turning to face all the other knights as well, "had apparently been keeping some _secrets_ from us all. And Prince Lucan he… he revealed them. Though not for our sake, but for our _shame_…" she paused, her voice faltering on that last word.

She raised her head highly. "Merlin has magic," she said in one long, hurried breath.

No one moved. They all regarded the Queen with shocked expressions.

"I'm sorry, did you just say _Merlin_ has..." Elyan asked.

She nodded silently in confirmation. The knights looked at each other unbelievingly.

Sir Leon sounded surprisingly vulnerable when he spoke next.

"You're saying that, all this time, Merlin was a _traitor_?"

Gwen sighed.

_This is going to be hard._

* * *

Morgana observed the man standing before her. He was of tall, well muscled built, his hair was cut short and a large scar decorated the left side of his face, from the side of his mouth up his cheek ending above his eyebrow. He wore dark brown leather breeches and a leather vest, leaving most of his chest bare. Secured on his back was a great iron axe, menacing and, as she hoped, frequently used.

_Yes…he will do._

"Me and my men are at your service, my Lady," he said calmly.

Behind him, the rest of the mercenary company stood silent. She offered her hand for the other man to kiss.

"Make camp near us, _Captain_ Brog. And come find me once you're settled," she said satisfied, and entered her tent.

Inside, it was too dark to see. She lit the candle with a quick spell and sat on her cot.

The witch was already impatient. Alined had _yet to_ contact her to confirm they had been successful.

_What is taking these idiots so long? _

She still couldn't believe what they'd told her. Merlin had magic. He had to. That box had been enchanted by her personally; it wouldn't open without the right key. Not _even_ with magic. She had had one of her Bloodguard, a man who had studied some of the Arts, to try and open it and he had failed to.

But apparently her spell wasn't powerful enough to stop Emrys.

Her doom.

_Not if I have anything to say about it. _

The more she thought of it, the more it fit. Merlin, _of course_ it was him. The man that had betrayed her first, that had tried to kill her, that had been fighting her all this time. How hadn't she seen it before? He had ruined her plans so many times, and everything was done behind Arthur's back. She should have known that he was more than he seemed. For one, she'd known for a while he was a better liar than anyone could ever think of him. And now, when she recalled all those times she'd failed while she was in Camelot, the countless times something unexplainable had happened, she was astonished she'd never even _thought_ about magic being used to hinder her.

Emrys, the old man, he had first appeared under a different name, when she had tried to get rid of _Gwen_, that usurper Queen that now sat on _her_ throne. She could see the resemblance now. She could recall Morgause had used a similar spell once to get into Camelot undetected.

_Clever_.

She never thought that she could hate Arthur's manservant more than she already did.

But now, now that she knew he had magic _all along_, that he'd never chosen to use it in order to _help her_, that he had tried to destroy her long before she even knew who _she_ was, what power she could command, who's blood run in her veins…

Now, she was barely restraining herself from marching into Camelot and killing him on the spot. Ruthlessly and coldly, with no sense of remorse. He _deserved_ her hatred and her vengeance.

She was almost sad at the thought of someone else being the one to end him. Though the poison she had gifted Trickler with was not only very lethal, but excruciatingly painful. The less potent the mixture, the slower and more agonizing the death.

At least she could be certain that he had suffered in his final moments.

_How fitting for the man who had poisoned me to meet his end by the same weapon?_

The mirror on the table started sparkling.

_Finally!_

She hurried to grab it. Inside she could see the face of Alined's sorcerer. The man looked very pleased with himself. Morgana chose to take that as sign that things had gone according to plan.

Alined's face came next.

"My Lady. I have great news…" he said.

"Is Merlin dead?" she interrupted him impatiently.

The King smiled sinisterly. "No, my lady. _Better_…"

Morgana frowned. "What do you mean? Have you captured him?"

"No, my lady," he replied. He tilted his head closer, as if entrusting her with a secret. "Merlin, _Emrys_, has _left_ Camelot! He abandoned them all…" he said gleefully.

That didn't make any sense to her.

"Are you sure he's not tricked you in any way? The Merlin _I_ know would never do that. He would give his life gladly for his _precious Arthur_…"

"See, I believe that's what _he_ thought as well. Until the Prince of Ostia convinced him otherwise…"

* * *

Gwen walked through the deserted corridor. Outside the King's chambers, the two guards posted gave her a silent salute.

She paused for a moment, hearing Arthur's restless pacing coming from the other side of the door. She knocked once.

"Arthur?" she asked warily. The footsteps from inside her husband's chambers stopped abruptly.

"Arthur, _please_. Open the door," she pleaded.

A moment passed, and then she could hear him returning to his previous pacing.

Sighing tiredly, the Queen stepped back from the room's entrance.

She understood he needed more time. Time to process what had happened. To understand what it meant. To figure out how he felt about it.

_But we can't afford it. Camelot needs its ruler_.

She retreated back to her quarters. It was already very late and Mithian had returned to her rooms, not after making sure Gwen was alright. The Queen's heart warmed at the thought of her new friend. The only positive to have come out of this otherwise horrible day.

_That's not entirely correct. The treaty has been signed. We got what we wanted, didn't we?_

Inside her room, the fire was burning brightly, a sign that her maid had come and gone. The queen went to sit by the window sill, not minding the draft of cold wind that came from the edges. A storm was raging outside, and it reflected perfectly her inner emotions.

Merlin had left.

She remembered how she'd felt the moment she'd realized that Prince Lucan was speaking the _truth_, that Merlin, her friend, had magic.

All this time, he was a sorcerer.

She recalled the shocked betrayal that she'd first felt with shame. Knowing that she had been once again fooled by a person so close to her, the first emotion she'd felt was anger. But then she had started paying _attention_ to what Lucan was saying, what he was _suggesting_.

Though she couldn't understand everything the man was saying, his point was clear. That all these years, Merlin had been helping them, _with magic_, hidden behind the shadows.

And she had to stand there, unable to do anything but watch him slowly fall apart under the Prince's harsh words.

_For nothing._

Because_ that's_ what had shattered their friend in the end. Lucan's claim that all of Merlin's work had been for nothing.

That it had nothing to do with this _grand destiny_ he was supposed to have as the sorcerer Emrys. That he had dedicated his life to the wrong man, the wrong people. That he would never find reward in Camelot. Only more suffering.

The Queen had to squeeze her eyes not to let any more tears fall. _They_ had done this. It was their fault that Merlin lost his faith in them. How could they, how could _she_, not have realized how _troubled_ Merlin had been?

She kept thinking about the last couple of years; when the rise in her status had resulted in her spending less and less time chatting with her old friend. The cold realization that hit her made her heart ache. He hadn't been happy for a long time, she could see it now. His smiles had changed from wide and infectious to simply polite. Somewhere along those years, he had lost that _spark_ in his eyes that was just… _Merlin_.

And she hadn't seen it. None of them, who called themselves his _friends_, had. But perhaps that was because _they'd_ _all_ unconsciously never thought of him as one of them, as an equal. Sure, he was their friend, but he wasn't _like _them.

The horrid truth hit the former serving girl hard when she thought of her past behavior towards her friend. Even _before_ she became Queen, she too had slowly begun to adopt that logic. She was never impolite, or didn't show she cared if or when someone insulted him, but she hadn't treated him as she should have.

He had always come second. Compared to Arthur, to Elyan, to _Lancelot_. To Camelot even.

She hadn't even realized it. Hell, Merlin had been _injured_ and _missing_ and still Gwen remembered she had been more worried about _Arthur_ possibly getting hurt than about Merlin being found _dead_.

And that was how she had treated a man that had gladly confessed to being a sorcerer in front of Uther, in order to save her life…

_He _was_ the sorcerer, the one who saved my father. Wasn't he?_

_And all I did was put my selfishness before his wellbeing, again and again._

Just the other night, when everyone of their small group was gathered for dinner, Merlin was the only one who wasn't there to eat and discuss, but to _work_. To _serve_ them.

_With_ them, as always, but not _one_ of them.

She'd never stopped thinking of him as a loyal friend, her husband's _best_ friend, but above all, she always thought of him as a servant.

Not that there was anything wrong with being a servant –she used to be one, for God's sake-, just that Merlin, Guinevere _finally_ understood, was _so_ much more than that. Even without the _magic_ – and she still could scarcely think of Merlin _and_ magic together-, he had done so much for her, for Arthur, for all of them, without ever asking reward. And they, in return, had _never_ thought of how much he _deserved_ it.

They had taken him for _granted_.

Arthur had knighted the commoners that had supported him in his hour of need without a second thought. But Merlin, the man that had always been loyal to him, who had warned him about Agravaine and had picked up the pieces of the young King after his uncle's betrayal and managed to make him believe in himself once more, had been _rewarded_ with the honor of cleaning the mess Morgana's brief reign of terror had made of Arthur's chambers.

And still their friend hadn't complained, not really. He had just continued his silly bantering with Arthur, perhaps thinking that in time, his hard work and sacrifice would pay off. That he could reveal his true self to those around him and be _accepted_.

The Queen remembered clearly the moment that last hope died inside her friend's eyes. The way his knees gave out and he was left there completely broken. And the pain flared inside her heart when she remembered how it hadn't been either her or Arthur to collect him, to try to comfort and _restore_ him, but _Lucan_.

Gwen wasn't surprised to realize she didn't feel at all deceived by Merlin. Though she could understand that he had been lying to all of them for _years_, she couldn't blame him for it. They never gave him any reason to doubt he would face anything but _condemnation_ if he'd told them the truth.

_In the end, _Gwen thought sadly_, we all had it coming. Perhaps we got what we deserve._

She got up and decided she should at least try to get some sleep. She was the Queen and tomorrow she would have to be strong again. For her people. For Arthur.

She just wished she'd really been there for Merlin as well when he needed her most.

* * *

It was very late at night when Morgana showed up at the mercenary camp. Two of Brog's soldiers escorted her to their leader's tent.

The large Captain was sitting on a chair, sharpening the blade of his axe with a whetstone.

He got up when she entered.

"My lady, is it time already?" he asked.

"Yes." Morgana replied smoothly. "Do you have them?"

"Just as you ordered. Although, I don't understand what you could possibly…"

"I wouldn't expect it from you, Brog," she reprimanded him indignantly. "I just need you to do as you're told. I'll pay you handsomely for it…"

The large man grinded his teeth but nodded in agreement. He led the witch out of the tent, to the borders of their settlement, at the other side of her own camp. There, gathered in a large pile lay rocks of various shapes and sizes.

Brog gestured to them. "Will these do, Lady Morgana?"

She hummed in approval as she assessed the pile of rocks. _Yes, that will do very nicely…_

She dismissed the mercenary captain with a wave of her hand and began working frantically on her spell.

The news of Emrys' flight was the best she had gotten in years. Not only did it mean that Camelot wasn't anymore equipped to deal with her magic, but that she would have the chance to deal with Merlin herself as well, after she had first taken back what was rightfully hers. She would hunt that traitor down and make him pay for what he did to her.

But first, she needed to deal with Arthur. With Camelot.

And for that she wanted to be prepared as best as possible.

She watched her handiwork with pride. It was coming along very promisingly.

When she would reclaim Camelot the following evening, she would have a very special _treat_ ready for those who opposed her.

_Oh, this will be so much fun! So much fun indeed…_

* * *

Gwaine's head hurt. His eyes were blurry and his throat dry. His clothes underneath the armour reeked of alcohol from the night before. He was standing in the courtyard amongst many of Camelot's knights, waiting for Queen Annis' party to depart.

The knight wrapped his cloak closer around him. It was a very chilly day, and last night's rainclouds had yet to leave the sky.

He tried to warm his gloved hands by rubbing them quickly together. He could see Percival, Leon and Elyan wondering amongst the others, all of them clearly avoiding one another. He sighed, remembering the events of the previous day.

Last night had been one of the most difficult of his entire life.

To learn a secret like that about a man he'd always considered a _friend_, it made him doubt if they had _ever_ been close. But then, who was he to talk about secrets? Only Merlin knew of his true parentage.

_Fitting, come to think of it._

He couldn't say he'd been surprised by the others' reactions.

At first they had all been doubtful but, in the end, they had come to accept that the King's manservant had in fact _magic_.

Elyan and Percival took the news relatively well. They'd been surprised but willing to listen to what Guinevere was saying. Leon, though, had been unable to get over the fact that Merlin somehow knew and commanded the dragon that had, in the past, attacked the city. It had taken both Gwen and Mithian to convince the enraged knight that Merlin hadn't been conspiring against them, wasn't _evil_. Instead, Gwen had insisted that Merlin appeared to have been either tricked or given no choice in some of his actions by that same dragon. Apparently there had been a lot of difficult decisions for him to make during his years in Camelot. She hadn't understood all that had been said, but she thought the way Merlin looked, the pain in his eyes, the tremble in his body as he remembered all that, that couldn't have been an act.

No, Gwaine would never believe that the Merlin he'd met, the carefree, smart and above all else _loyal_ young man was an act, a façade. Perhaps what had been an act was the clumsy fool that they all loved to make fun of.

_I wonder how he'd felt, to be the most powerful of us all and to have to act like a fool half of the time…_

_Alone. That's how he'd felt. Alone, unappreciated. But still he stayed with us._

_Yes, because his destiny dictated it._

If there was one thing Gwaine was angry about was _that_. The fact that Merlin had gone through all those years believing he needed to _suffer_ in order to fulfill his destiny.

_What kind of man endures all this crap just because of some old prophecy? _

If he had talked to them, to him, even once, tell them how he felt, how he thought he was worth _more_, Gwaine was sure things would have gone differently.

_But, then again, would they, really?_

Merlin used to complain to Arthur every single day about being overworked, and the only thing the King would do was laugh at him and call him names.

And he and the others would always join in the fun. They teased him all the time, but it had always been good naturedly on their part. He was like their _mascot_, their younger, slightly silly brother that they'd always want to protect.

If things had been _this_ bad though, Gwaine was blaming himself for not noticing. Merlin had been the first friend he'd ever made; he was the one who helped him find a purpose in his life, which until they'd met consisted only of drinking and gambling. He had been the one who convinced him Arthur was different than the rest of the royals. That he was worth dying for.

To think that Merlin has stopped believing in that, in their King… How could they let him come to this? How blind had they been…?

His gaze focused on the leaving party. Annis' knights had mounted their horses, when their Queen stepped out of the castle, Guinevere by her side, politely making conversation with her guest.

Gwaine noted Arthur's absence, just like everyone else in the courtyard did. There were lots of people gathered that day.

_They probably want to see how Gwen took the turn of the events, gossiping buggers…_ The knight thought bitterly.

The news of what had occurred in the Great Hall had traveled fast throughout Camelot. Gwaine had already stumbled into servants gossiping like mad around darker corners, spreading different versions of the story every single time. The only common factor was that somehow, the King's manservant had been found a sorcerer and had escaped with the help of one of the guests.

_Surprisingly close to the truth, for gossip_…

He moved closer to the two Queens that were saying their final goodbyes.

"I wish you well, my dear. I hope you'll get over this unpleasant affair soon…" he heard Annis say.

He scoffed. _Unpleasant indeed_…

Then a thought hit him.

"You know, your Majesty," he said, addressing the older Queen who turned abruptly to face him with a raised eyebrow, "it was _Merlin_ who had tried to convince Arthur _not_ to kill Carleon. Of course, the King chose to follow the advice of his uncle, Agravaine, over that of his servant and ended up executing him, but still…" he paused giving her a hard and meaningful look, "I just thought you should know that _unpleasant_ detail…" he finished daringly.

Annis' eyes widened at hearing that. She stood silent for a few moments and then turned to answer the knight, her gaze strong and calculating.

"Then, both he and I were proven _naive_ in regards to our advisors, and foolish in the face of sorcerers. Because, if Arthur was a fool for _not_ trusting a sorcerer, _I_ was a fool for doing so."

She turned to the Queen of Camelot and all the others gathered around them.

"I will offer you this, Guinevere Pendragon. _Be_ _careful_. For, if half of what was said in that room was true, Camelot has just lost its greatest protector."

Gwaine felt a shiver at the wise Queen's words_. Somehow_, he thought as he watched the party gallop away, _they sounded more like a foreshadowing than a warning_.

* * *

Trickler moved through the palace kitchens with ease, carefully avoiding the constant parade of servants moving about trying to get things ready.

He eyed the jugs of water placed on a side counter. Lifting an eyebrow in question, he decided to test if his assumptions were correct. He took one jug from the counter, making sure the Cook would be able to see him doing so.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing? Get those dirty hands of those, they are for the knights' quarters!" the fat woman began yelling at him.

"My mistake," he said, his eyes failing to hide his mirth. _Correct, as expected. _

He sat at a corner half hidden and waited for the woman to be distracted. As soon as she had turned her head, he took the vial off his pocket, opened it discretely and dripped its context into the jugs, careful as to not miss even a single one. He checked around to see if he had been noticed.

Everyone was as busy as always, no eyes turned to his direction.

_Good_.

* * *

When he returned to his master's chambers, Alined was there with three of his knights.

"So?" he demanded.

"Everything went smoothly. We just wait a few hours for them to fall asleep and we move on to the next part of the plan, Sire," he said, a smirk on his face.

The king smiled satisfied. He turned to one of his men and ordered him to go and get the others ready.

_Soon it begins_.

* * *

It was the middle of a starless night, when Arthur was woken up by the warning bells. The King couldn't see anything in the darkness of his chambers. Even the fire had long ago burned out completely. He hadn't even realized he'd fallen asleep. He got up from his chair and walked to the doors.

"Guards?" he asked in a hoarse tone.

There was no answer.

He fumbled in the dark, trying to find his disregarded sword and keys. When he did, he grabbed the hilt of the weapon and run to unlock the doors. Meanwhile, the warning bells hadn't ceased tolling. As soon as he was out, he noticed the absence of his guards.

He heard a sound of footsteps from the far side of the corridor. His instincts alerted him of another presence.

He turned towards it.

"Who goes there? Show yourself!" he demanded.

When no one answered him, Arthur raised his weapon and started walking towards the source of the sound, slowly but steadily.

The last thing he remembered was a sharp pain on the back of his head and a pair of eyes glinting in the darkness.

Then nothing.

* * *

A/N: Mithian POV! Well, this was a long one...

One small reminder, we are getting very close to the day I like to call as Arthur's Execution Day…

Please leave a review for me, I greatly appreciate it :D


	7. Chapter 6: For whom the bell

A/N: Before we get started, I'd like to thank all the anonymous reviewers. You guys can't begin to imagine how much I appreciate everything you say! Thank you …

Also, I should thank _Pernicia_ for helping me by pointing out a small hole I'd missed in my plot! It's now fixed :P

Last, I should probably say that neither me or my Beta, Arwyn-T, are native English speakers, so please forgive us for any mistakes that we might make. We try our best, but still, we're only human!

Now, to the chapter…

* * *

**Chapter 6: For whom the bell**

Merlin could hear the others stirring behind him. Dawn was almost upon them and their small settlement was waking up, their plan being to ride at first light. They had left Camelot the previous day, and had at least another two days' ride before they reached their destination.

He could hear to the gradually growing murmur of the Ostian knights, while they were packing their bed rolls, shoving dirt to put out the fire and gathering the horses.

"Do you think we should wake him up?" Declan's voice came from somewhere close. The Druid had dropped his tone in an effort to be as quiet as possible.

"No, not yet." Lucan responded. The Prince wasn't really whispering, but it was clear he was trying to keep his voice down as to not wake Merlin up. The warlock could tell they were sitting somewhere very near him.

"Let him rest a little while longer. He needs it more than we do," Lucan continued. Merlin heard shuffling and the distinct sound of wood creaking.

"Come on," the Prince said to his companion, "Let us finish packing. I'll wake him just before we're ready to move." The warlock kept perfectly still as their footsteps got closer to where he was lying on his side, his back turned to them, only for them to quickly pass by behind him, and join the others.

Merlin decided to feign sleep for as long as he could. He wanted, no, _needed_ a little more time to himself.

Time to spend alone with his thoughts.

While Lucan and Declan had yet to talk to him about anything other than to ask if he was comfortable or to inform him about any stop they might have to make -and Merlin was extremely thankful about their thoughtful discretion-, he could feel their concern, their constant worry about his condition, his state of mind.

He hadn't said anything to them since they'd left Camelot. He hadn't wanted to. Didn't feel like it.

He just couldn't bear the thought of them _pitying_ him, feeling sorry for him. Even if they wouldn't voice it now, he knew it was true. Lucan had said so clearly at the council.

At that moment, a gush of wind blew and Merlin had to cling on the warm blanket around him in order to stay covered. He hadn't spared a single thought on the gradually increasing cold weather. The last days of autumn were always chilly in Camelot, but the skinny warlock had much more to deal with than being cold this morning.

He was, even now, trying to get a grip of what had occurred the day before. The numbness he'd felt the first few hours of their flight had slowly been replaced by something else. A low burning feeling that was closer to pain than anything else.

Every time he let his mind go back to what had taken place in the council, the same turmoil of emotion would erupt within him, wrecking havoc inside him, driving him mad. So many things to feel at once… he didn't know what to make of them.

He didn't even know how he was supposed to feel in the first place. It was literally giving him a headache.

_Gods… just… please, stop this. _

_All this… guilt. _

Merlin barely managed to contain a hysterical laughter. It was just so _typical_ of him to, even after all that had happened, be the one that felt all the guilt. That carried all the burden of this _failure_.

Because that was what it was all about, in the end.

_He_ had failed.

Failed his destiny. Failed _himself_.

Merlin's greatest fear so far had been that his secret would be discovered and now that it had come _true_, it was the last thing on his mind. He wanted to scream at the fates for playing with him in such a manner.

He couldn't even bring himself to _care_ about what Arthur would think of him now, what he would say… The rejection he'd seen in the King's eyes that fleeting moment was still a raw wound in his chest. He just couldn't, _wouldn't_ think about it…

Instead, he'd chosen again to focus on what Lucan had said.

The warlock had spend hours last night trying to remember everything that had happened from the moment he stepped foot on the castle. Even in his half-dazed state, he couldn't deny what, he could now plainly see, had happened.

No, the facts didn't lie. Not this time.

He had let himself be guided into living a life full of lies and disappointment. He'd let himself be forced to form relationships with people who he now saw would never accept him. The simple truth was that he, _Emrys_, was urged to take the _hardest way possible_ to succeed in his destiny. He was _told_ to cast the Prince of Camelot for the role of the Once and Future King, when it should have been _his_ _own_ choice in the first place.

Apparently, he'd been too young and too naïve to realize that he had been used as a pawn to serve the purpose of another.

Kilgharrah. _The Dragon_.

But what still angered Merlin the most was the realization that he had let his spirit be changed. Tamed. _Broken_...

It was as if a veil had been lifted from his eyes and he could finally see clearly again. He had changed so much since he first got there…

The Merlin that had arrived in Camelot all those years ago would have never given up on his dreams. He would have never stopped craving to be free, to be seen for who he really was, to take credit for what he had done.

He remembered how, in the beginning, all his actions had been driven by one specific aspiration. And that _wasn't_ to make Arthur the Once and Future King, or to unite Albion. No, that was what _the Dragon_ had insisted his Destiny was.

What Merlin had craved for was for _magic_ to be free again. For Camelot to stop its relentless persecution of sorcerers. He did what he was told he had to because the Dragon had promised him that _that_ was the only way for his dream to come true. That by aiding Arthur, he would one day be able to show proudly who he really was to the world, what he had done. He would be free.

Merlin couldn't pinpoint exactly when, but, somewhere along the way, that innocent boy, full of ideals and dreams, had been replaced by a young man resigned to live his entire life in the shadows and to fight a battle that, in the end, wasn't even his to begin with.

_And all that in the name of an illusion. _

The more he thought about it, the more he wanted to cry at the injustice of it all. How had he not _seen_ it? He had been stuck for years in a dead-end, doing nothing else than serve and protect, doing what he thought was his destiny. But while he was too busy lying and trying not to get killed, he failed to realize that his _supposed_ destiny wasn't really being fulfilled. And while everyone around him was finding their place in the world, he had ended up forgotten, too unimportant for them to spare a second glance. Wondering what he had done wrong for fate to punish him this way.

He didn't want to think about any them. His _friends_.

In the end, they had taken advantage of him. All of them. Arthur, the dragon, even Gwen, Gaius and the knights.

He would always give and give and give, and, in return, he'd receive nothing but mere scraps, which he would then be told to value as gold.

And, like the fool he was, Merlin did.

His mind drifted to his absent mentor. He wondered what Gaius would have said if he had been there, yesterday, in the Great Hall. No doubt he would have tried to stop him. He could just hear the old physician talk in his usual soothing tone, say the things Merlin had been hearing from his mouth for ages.

_Be patient, Merlin… You must bear this yet again, my boy… It's not the time... _

Merlin didn't want to think like that, so _bitterly_, about the man who had taken him over and been his mentor as well as his sole confidant for so many years –almost a father-, but he couldn't help it. Gaius had always been hindering any attempt Merlin tried to make in order to move with his destiny. The warlock used to think that that was because Gaius was afraid for his ward. But now, he doubted even that.

_Perhaps he'd preferred to keep me as his assistant. _

What a neat little package he'd been for all of them.

_A servant-advisor-physician's assistant-secret magical defender, all in one. _

But Merlin found he didn't blame any of them for what they had, _or_ _hadn't_, done. Not Gaius, not Gwen, not Gwaine and certainly not Arthur.

The real blame lay with _him_.

_He_ was the one that had let it all happen.

He had lost the will to fight. Lost his character. He had let himself become nothing more than a slave in the name of destiny. He couldn't blame anyone who took advantage of it.

It really amazed him now to think of how much of a waste all his time -_his_ _life_- in Camelot had really been. It hurt so much just to think about it. All his efforts, all his hard work. Everything and everyone he had sacrificed.

_So much... I gave so much and for what exactly?_

The heavy footsteps behind him alerted him to another man's presence. Dawn had just come, and he would probably have to get up soon. He paused to listen more carefully for a moment and heard Prince Lucan's calm voice giving orders for the horses to be saddled.

Ready to continue their ride to Ostia.

He sighed trying to free his mind from its previous musings.

The Prince's voice sounded again, this time closer, talking to someone in hushed tones.

_Probably Declan._

The thought of the two friends together, probably talking about their journey, made Merlin's mind unsurprisingly travel back to _Arthur_.

He could remember the first few months in the, then prince's, service. They'd been _hell_.

And, yet again, Lucan's words haunted him…

_If you could've chosen, would you have ever considered Arthur for the title of the greatest King of All?_

He hadn't answered then, but deep inside he'd always known the truth.

_No, I wouldn't._

Though, to be fair, Merlin had to admit that Arthur had improved somewhat since he'd met him. He had done many commendable things, had gone against his father even. Had stood by what he'd believed in.

'_But then again_,' he heard a voice in his head, one that sounded much like Prince Lucan, say. '_What had Arthur done that hadn't been suggested or advised by me?' _

At least he could be glad he had managed to make a half decent King out of that arrogant bully of a Prince.

A man that he had so naively believed he could one day call his friend.

But no. Perhaps he had been a friend to Arthur. But Arthur had definitely not been one to Merlin. Because friends are supposed to accept and respect each other. To _value_ one another.

_Well, he did _call_ me a friend, once or twice,_ he thought bitterly.

_He helped in Ealdor, didn't he? _

Yes, Arthur had come with him then. Though how much of a help he had proven himself to be in the long run, Merlin wasn't very sure. Merlin could have easily ended that battle by himself. Instead, they had gone with Arthur's way of dealing with the situation. And the number of people that died that day, Will amongst them, combined with the fact that, ultimately, it had been Merlin that had turned the equation was just further proof of how foolish Merlin had been to accept his help in the first place. But he couldn't deny that the man's heart had been in the right place.

Perhaps Arthur wasn't the worst choice for the Once and Future King. But Merlin could now acknowledge he wasn't the best either.

He was startled by a warm hand on his shoulder.

"Merlin?" Lucan said, slightly shaking the warlock. "Are you awake? We need to leave…"

Merlin turned his head to look at the other man. Seeing him awake, Prince Lucan nodded a silent greeting and backed away to where the others were getting ready.

Abruptly the image of another morning, in another forest, came to the warlock, when another royal had decided to wake him up, that time with a kick to the side.

He got up and started packing his things quickly and efficiently. He saw Declan coming close to him with a bit of bread in his one hand, an apple in the other.

Merlin took the offered breakfast, while the other man loaded the warlock's bedroll and blanket on one of the horses. From the back of his own horse, Lucan offered him a small smile.

"Come on, Merlin. We don't have all day…" he said teasingly, the smile still adoring his face.

And when Merlin had to use all his strength not to respond _"Hold your horses, you prat!"_ at the smiling Prince, the pain inside him grew unbearable once again.

* * *

"Grab his back… No, not that side-the other, yes!" Elyan managed to say as he and Percival struggled to manhandle Gwaine's almost unconscious body to a standing position..

"What do we do with him now?" the larger man asked. They were outside the Rising Sun, having just collected the other knight from where the inn's keeper had dropped him after he'd passed out. It was the second consecutive night Gwaine had spent at the Inn, drinking his body-weight in ale, and his friends had decided that it was _enough_.

"Come on," Elyan urged him, "let's take him to his bed. He'll have the most dreadful hangover tomorrow morning… Perhaps Gaius or Merlin will have som-"he stopped, realizing what he'd just said. The other knight kept silent at his friend's slip of the tongue.

They had all purposefully avoided talking about Merlin with each other, as if _that_ could've solve the problem of their absent friend. Still, they all felt that it was too soon to address such a difficult matter. It would hurt too much if they did.

They slowly moved through the lower town heading towards the castle. It was late in the night and they were the only ones awake, perhaps with the exception of the guarding patrols that constantly roamed around the empty streets.

It was Percival that heard it first. He stopped, almost dropping Gwaine in the process. Elyan shot him an inquisitive glance.

The bigger knight waited in silence for a moment.

_Thud_

"There! Did you hear that?" he asked the other man, lowering his voice.

Elyan's features darkened as he nodded to confirm that he had indeed heard the strange sound.

_Thud –thud –thud _

This time it was clearer and definitely louder. Whatever the cause, it was coming closer. The two men exchanged glances, thinking of the same thing. The two knights moved almost instantly.

First they found a half-hidden alley to place their unconscious friend, then they managed to conceal him as best as they could, before they made it back to the main street and followed the sound to its source. If experience had taught them one thing, it was that strange things in the night were sure signs of trouble.

As they closed in, a distinct clang of swords and raised voices joined the almost constant rhythmical thud, resulting in the characteristic sound of battle.

As they turned one last corner, they were almost squashed in the ground by a huge bolder that fell on their path.

Percival reacted faster than the two and pushed Elyan to the side, both ending up on the ground, shocked but unharmed. Then, what they had taken for a bolder _lifted_, and the two knights stared in shared horror as a _stone giant_ -for that was the only way to describe the ten feet tall monster before them, that was actually made of _stone_ – got back on his feet and charged towards a group of guards cowering in fear at the other side of the street.

Percival unsheathed his sword in a smooth move and prepared to attack, only to be held back in return by Elyan.

"Look!" he heard Elyan's cry and turned to where the other knight was pointing.

It was as if they were in a nightmare, it _couldn't_ be real. This couldn't be happening.

_Not again_.

Because this just couldn't be _Morgana_ marching inside the city, surrounded by an army of men that let nothing standing in their path.

A crashing sound made them face the huge monster again. The two knights watched in desperation as the stone giant brought down a wall of a nearby building _on the trapped guards heads._

"We must alert the castle! We must sound the warning bells!" Elyan hissed and dragged the half frozen Percival back to the street where they had come from.

When they entered the courtyard, they saw that another battle was already taking place in it.

Two different groups of Camelot's guards, along with a small number of its knights, were fighting against a larger number of men, men that wore King Alined's sigil.

Scanning the courtyard to assess the situation, the two knights quickly spotted Leon. The older knight had managed to separate from the others and was near the south gate, cornered to the wall by three enemy knights.

Elyan and Percival run to their friend's aid. They promptly dealt with two of the knights, while Leon finished the third.

It was at that point when the familiar thud sounded from behind them and they turned in time to see Morgana and her men barge inside the courtyard from the northern gate.

Leon's eyes widened at the sight of the witch. As the rest of her men entered the courtyard, Morgana's _pet boulder_ followed as well, trailing behind the black clad woman.

At that moment, the warning bells sounded at last, alerting the rest of the castle and town of the ongoing invasion.

"_Morgana_…" Percival growled at the sight of her joining ranks with Alined's knights, easily overcoming any last resistance from Camelot's men.

The three friends grabbed the hilts of their swords and moved to attack, ready to defend their kingdom with their lives. They had no other choice. Their King and Queen were inside the castle. They would try to get to them even if it was the last thing they'd ever do.

"For the King!" Leon said, his voice strong and full of emotion.

For Arthur they would die.

They took a few steps, only to be stopped as a shout came from the side.

"Over here!" said a man, standing at the gate, lingering in the shadows.

"You don't stand a chance against her magic… can't help your king if you're _dead_!" he hissed, taking a few steps back, towards the exit, his eyes glinting in the darkness, never leaving them.

The three friends looked at each other, sensing the truth in the man's words. Behind them, Morgana's cold voice came, barking orders for the captives to be transferred to the dungeons.

If they charged now, they would either join the others, or end up dead.

Without a second thought, they followed the mysterious man into the dark.

* * *

The first thing he felt was a sharp pain in his lower abdomen. He curled instinctively into a ball, but the pain kept coming. To his side, to his ribs. He gasped as another hit landed, this time on his back, causing him to arch from the burning feeling.

He was aware of others around him, laughing at him. He tried to get to his feet, but found he couldn't move them properly. He tried to lift himself on his hands only to realize they were bound. His feet as well.

"Look who's finally up!" he heard a man's voice taunting him. Two sets of hands grabbed him from the shoulders and made him stand on his knees. The pain in his stomach and back returned even more excruciating than before.

His eyes came to focus in time to watch an iron-barred door open in front of him. Morgana walked inside the small cell alongside a large, scar faced man.

"Arthur Pendragon… How much like your father you truly are…" she commented, almost talking to herself, her cold, calculating eyes never leaving her brother's face.

Arthur blinked slowly. His mind was still slightly confused from being woken up like that, he couldn't think straight.

"_Morgana?_ What… what have you done?" he asked slowly, his tone distant and lost.

The witch smirked at his dazed response. Beside her, the men that had woke him up barked in laughter.

"That is a very good question actually, Arthur. I must commend you on that. What I've done is to take back what was stolen from me, what was rightfully mine all along," she stated triumphantly, lifting her chin in a daring manner.

"Look at you now, _King_ Arthur. How worthless you are against me…" she came closer to him and towered before his kneeled form.

"How do you feel, I wonder? How does it feel to have lost _everything_, all because of your hatred against magic... So much like our _dear_ father you are…" she taunted him, though any traces of smile had long ago left her face. Instead, it was clear in her features that she only felt true loathing for the man before her.

Arthur struggled to keep his head up, to not let it drop, even though he felt like crumbling.

"Do you think Merlin will care _at all_ when he learns that Camelot has fallen?" she added, grabbing his hair and pulling it harshly backwards. "That his _King_ is _dead_?" she all but spat on his face. Arthur closed his eyes, refusing to show her how much her words truly affected him.

"You know," she said as she backed away, leaving him struggling not to fall on the floor from the force of her shove. "I should thank you, Arthur. You've made this _so_ much easier. The one person that was standing between me and the throne and you drove him away by just _being you_."

She smiled when he glared at her.

"So, _please_. Indulge me… How. Do you._ Feel?"_ she purred softly at him.

Arthur didn't hesitate a moment to answer, his voice seething.

"_Go to hell!" _

Her smug expression did not falter at all.

"Very well, have it your way then," she replied almost nonchalantly. "From this moment on, you are no longer the King of Camelot. _My_ crowning ceremony will be held shortly in the Great Hall, your _darling wife_ is bound to attend by the way, and my _first_ official act as the reinstated Queen of Camelot will be to _execute_ you, Arthur Pendragon, for yours and your father's crimes against magic," she finished quickly, enjoying the fleeting look of defeat in Arthur's eyes.

"Enjoy your last day on this earth, _brother_," she said before she turned her back and stormed off the small cell, her escort following swiftly behind.

Left alone in his cell, except for the guards standing outside, Arthur let his body fall back and slowly hauled himself towards the back wall. He brought his legs up as far as he could, and rested his bound hands upon them, his head finally dropping, unable to hold pretence of strength any longer.

And like this, small, bound and defeated, the King of Camelot finally allowed himself to weep for everything he had lost.

* * *

A/N: Next chapter will be dedicated mainly to Arthur, I promise…

About Merlin's POV, I just wanted to remind you that the five stages of grief are: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.

Your reviews are welcomed and cherished, as always!


	8. Chapter 7: Mortality

A/N: Ok, first I want to apologize for being this late with my update. As I've already said to some of you, I had exams, but now, thankfully, they're over, so... summer vacations!

Now to the chapter. Writing this had been so unbelievably difficult! I have already said that about another chapter, but I can now honestly say that _that_ chapter was NOTHING compared to this _monstrosity_! (7,000 words people! Don't get used to it though… It almost killed me.)

And damn writer's block! It felt like I was violating my brain cells' human rights or something equally horrifying trying to write this. Thankfully I got over it…

I hope the outcome was worth it…

* * *

**Chapter 7: Mortality**

Morgana slowly caressed the gilded arms of her throne. She'd missed the way the carved wood felt beneath her fingers. It was as if the seat itself radiated power, making her more confident, stronger.

_Yes… This is how it's supposed to be._

King Alined cleared his throat impatiently. The man had stayed in the Great Hall after her crowning ceremony had ended and, somehow, Morgana doubted it had been so that he could congratulate her in private.

She turned to look at him. Once more he was accompanied by two of his men. The witch smirked inwardly at the thought of Alined still being on his guard around her, even though they were supposedly allies.

It was an _appropriate_ thing to do. Her own Bloodguard hadn't left her side at any moment since she had marched and reclaimed her Kingdom. Trust was never an issue between the two rulers. It just _wasn't_ _there_.

The King decided to speak his mind at last.

"Queen Morgana. This has all been a wonderful experience and all, but _perhaps_ it's now time for our _little arrangement_ to be met? I think I have successfully completed my part of the deal, my Lady, it is only natural that you do as well…" he said, trying to sound intimidating by the end of his speech, though failing spectacularly. If anything Morgana was _amused_.

"You promised me all the lands west of the Airwolk Keep, Morgana..." he persisted.

"Don't fret, my _dear_ Alined. You'll get your land soon enough. Just wait _one more day._ I want to ensure that when I sign the deal, there'll be none left to oppose me…" she started but was interrupted when the great doors of the Hall opened and two people stepped inside. It was the mercenary captain Brog, along with the foreign Princess, Mithian. Morgana didn't fail to notice a dark mark adoring her left cheek.

_There's a story behind that, I'm sure… _

When they were closer, Morgana lifted an eyebrow in question and waited in an uncharacteristic show of patience for the mercenary to explain himself.

"I'm sorry, your Majesty, but she insisted to see you. She wouldn't _shut_ _up_ about it…" Brog said, shoving Mithian harshly to stand in front of the Queen.

The Princess' posture stiffed but did not fall. She glared at the large man behind her and then promptly turned to face Morgana.

"_Lady_ Morgana…" she began as formally as possible, "I _demand_ you release me at once! Keeping me _and_ my knights imprisoned can only be considered as an _act of war_ against the Kingdom of Nemeth," she said coldly, lifting her chin in defiance.

Somewhere on Morgana's left side Alined snorted in amusement.

Mithian didn't even flinch. Neither did the Queen.

"But, of course, you already know that, don't you, _my lady_?" the Princess asked, her voice thick with frustration.

Morgana tilted her head on the side and smiled innocently at the glaring woman. She got up from her throne and walked towards her.

_I knew she had a brain somewhere inside that pretty little head of hers!_

She reached the other woman and her smile turned into a full smirk.

"Do I look _stupid_? If I let you go, then what's there to stop you and your father from _actually_ _declaring_ war to my Kingdom? You were always friends with _my_ _brother_ after all. Why, I seem to recall a time when you even intended on marrying him… Too bad you weren't good enough for him. You _poor_ _thing_…" she mocked her.

"No, my _dear_ Mithian," Morgana continued, now completely serious. "As long as you stay here, as my _honoured_ guest, then your father will know better than to do anything foolish against me, like, I don't know, _attack._"

Mithian regarded her with clear hatred. The princess' figure was now visibly shaking with anger. Morgana could see how the logic in her words affected the other woman.

"If anything happens to my men…" she began.

The Queen scoffed. "They'll be perfectly fine, I assure you…"

Mithian narrowed her eyes. "And what about the Queen? Guinevere? Are you going to kill her as well? Just as you plan to do with your own _brother_…"

Morgana saw red at that. Even the magic inside her was starting to heat up at the mention of Arthur and _his Queen_. "That _woman_," she spat, "will get exactly what she deserves for steeling what was mine!"

Mithian's eyes rounded at Morgana's outburst. "No!" she cried. "Don't you _dare_ touch her…"

Morgana was now fuming. "Oh, I won't. I have something _much_ better in mind for that snake…" she brightened at the thought of Gwen's suffering.

_How delightful!_

Mithian's self control vanished as she made to attack the woman in front of her. "You heartless…."

Before Morgana even thought of defending herself against an attack, Captain Brog was between the two women, catching Mithian roughly by the shoulders, and pinning her arms to her sides. The princess let out a shout of pain and tried, futilely, to break free from the man's iron grip.

"Be careful, _princess_, or you'll be getting a matching one on the other side," he said to her ear, his tone suggesting he was far too entertained at that thought.

Morgana couldn't even enjoy the look of fear that crossed Mithian's face. Instead she burned with anger. How dare that ignorant woman judge her?

"What I decide to do with these people is none of your business! I should just kill them all and be done with, traitors the lots of them!" she yelled, her eyes gold with the magic that raged inside her veins. She felt a small bout of satisfaction seeing the princess' form cowering away from her instinctively.

"But," Morgana continued, finally managing to control her emotions, "_in time_, they will all learn to respect me. Gwen, the knights, the people, they _will_ _all_ recognize me as their Queen, and I am determined to be patient until that day finally arrives."

She stepped back to her throne and sat on it gracefully.

"And as for _Guinevere_, I'm not so cruel as to not grant her the chance to properly mourn her _only_ love. Though, after he's dead, she _will_ return to her old position, where she truly belongs." And then, as an afterthought, she added. "Though, I think I'll have her scrub the mess in the courtyard after we're finished with my dear brother. After all, blood is so tricky to come off and she _always_ had such a knack for cleaning…"

Mithian's face lost what color it had left and she stood there trapped, unable to move from the mercenary's hold, as the current Queen of Camelot spoke of her plans.

"Brog," the Queen addressed the mercenary next. "Take our guest to one of the tower chambers. I don't care which one, just make sure it has bars on the windows. Please try not to harm her too much," she said, her smile suggesting otherwise. "And… bring her her precious Guinevere, too. She might as well start remembering how to be a maid. Though I'm certain the noble princess Mithian will be more of a friend than a mistress to her…" she glanced at Mithian. "See? I can be very good when I want to! Now go," she finished and gestured for them to leave.

The captain eagerly dragged the stunned woman towards the doors.

"And, Mithian," Morgana addressed her _guest_ one final time as they exited, "do tell your new maid to wear what I'll sent up for her. Black is only appropriate, after all. Tomorrow she becomes a widow…"

At that final taunt, the doors closed, leaving Morgana with King Alined once again, able to continue their previous discussion.

"Pity you decided to kill Arthur Pendragon," Alined commented absentmindedly. "Don't get me wrong, my Lady, I understand why you'd want to. It's just that it's _such_ a shame, so handsome…" he shook his head clearly troubled.

"I could've thought of so many, _much more_ entertaining things to do with him…"

* * *

Outside the night was dark and a storm was raging for what seemed like hours. Water flowed freely from the single dormer high up the cell's wall to the half bunged drain at the floor, leaving a wet trail upon the moldy stones in its path.

It could've been the coldest, dampest place in the world, the darkest, most foul prison, and still it wouldn't make any difference to the cell's current resident.

Arthur was sitting on the other side, opposite the small lightless window. At one point during his short stay in the dungeons, he had been visited again by the men that had woken him up earlier.

They'd said they wanted to 'roughened him up' a bit, since this would probably be their only chance to beat up a _King_.

After they had used him as a punching bag for a couple of rounds each, they'd left him alone again, a clean change of shirt thrown on his bloodied face, courtesy of their _merciful_ new queen.

_So_ _that you can look presentable at your big day_, they said.

The only positive thing was that they'd left him unbound. Though it was probably because, by the end of their visit, he'd been too weak to pose any real threat anyway. And really, what could he possibly do, locked up as he was inside the bowels of the castle?

Arthur heard a distant sound of footsteps. After a moment, it was gone again.

Silence.

_How did it all come to this?_

He knew the answer, deep inside his heart. But he could never face it. After all that had happened, it still felt almost impossible.

But he still couldn't believe it. It had taken such a small amount of time, less than three days, for everything that he knew to be entirely annihilated.

No. It had taken even less. Less than a day, less than an hour even. It had taken one speech and one man for Arthur's perfectly imperfect world to _collapse._

When he was thinking about his problems, his concerns before all this had happened, he wanted to laugh at the silliness of them. It was a terrible feeling, to be amused at the thought of your people suffering, to have their troubles being characterized as not important, _insignificant_ , but what was even _more_ terrible was the fact that, this time, he was right. All his problems, all his worries, were nothing compared to _this_.

Arthur didn't want to think about it. But there, in the darkness, where he was completely alone with his thoughts, it was the only thing on his mind. In fact, it was all he could think about for the last three days.

If he closed his eyes, he could see it all again so clearly. That fateful day, when he learned that the man he considered closer to him than any other, had been lying to him from the moment they met. The day he discovered that his best friend hadn't been who he believed him to be. The day he had to stand and watch as the one person that had always been there for him lost his faith and gave up.

The day Merlin had left.

It was the same day that the King of Camelot had been forced to face the truth which, for so many years, eluded him.

_Oh, I have been so blind for so long_.

What a surprise it'd been for the young King to find out that it hadn't_ really _been him. Any of it. It couldn't have. What Lucan had said, no matter how unpleasant, had an alarming ring of truth in it. And the sad thing was that it all made _so much_ _sense_. _Of course_ it had been magic. Camelot's unprecedented luck, his many close calls. The last minute miracles.

All these acts of bravery, all the accomplishments he have been boasting about. All these deeds that, until recently, defined, to the rest of the world and to himself, who Arthur Pendragon was. Lies the lots of them. Feats impossible to accomplish without the use of _magic_.

_So many lies_.

It had all been a manufactured tale. Painting an image of the perfect warrior and prince. The Greatest King of all.

What a hoax.

He could still recall the way Lucan's eyes had lit up when he'd spoken of the legend of Emrys, and how his own mind hadn't taken long to make the connection between the Emrys he remembered Morgana referring to the last time he saw her and the great sorcerer of the druidic prophecies.

But it had been the moment Lucan spoke of the Once and Future King that the anger and confusion Arthur had been feeling until that point, at the thought of magic being used behind his back all this time, had been replaced by sheer, unadulterated dread. Because it hadn't been the first time he heard of _that_ either. No, it had been a title that Merlin had at one point chosen to bestow upon him, and it had been _exactly_ what the manservant had said to the very last word.

As Lucan was addressing the person he'd been seeking all along, the sorcerer Emrys that he believed was hiding in Camelot for years, attempting to achieve destiny, the impossible fear that had grown inside Arthur's heart actually came _true_. And the only thing left for the King of Camelot to do at that point was stand there in shock, trying to figure out if he was awake or not, because he was certain it must have all been a nightmare.

Merlin just couldn't _be_ Emrys.

_How does one react when he learns his manservant is actually a sorcerer?_

Arthur had been deprived of the chance to react. He was forced to sit there, unable to move or speak. Forced to hear how the most important part of his life had been a lie.

He hadn't even gotten the chance to yell at Merlin. To call him a traitor and a liar. An evil enemy of the Kingdom. To order him arrested for the crime of practicing sorcery. Of lying to his King for years.

No. Instead, he had to stay still and listen as Lucan was speaking about his manservant's, _his friend's_, life, and analyzed how everything Merlin had been doing in secret had been in vain. That it all had come from the mistaken belief that Arthur was the _chosen_ one, Merlin's destiny. He heard them talk about dragons and poisons, about deaths he'd never heard of and life changing decisions he'd never been forced to make. Arthur's spinning head had been only able to follow the confrontation between the two men to an extent, but he had understood the bigger meaning of it all.

Arthur's body ached from the abuse he'd suffered, and his head pounded constantly. But still, despite everything, he could remember the precise moment when the newly born feelings of anger and hatred towards Merlin evaporated, and pure, instinctual fear and resolute denial replaced them, as he lay witness to Lucan's dismantling of Merlin's entire belief system.

And something primal inside Arthur had roared in fury when Lucan finally asked Merlin to leave with him.

When Merlin had turned his head towards Arthur, for the first time after everything that happened, the King remembered he had felt like he wasn't even there, inside his body. He couldn't understand what was happening, why Merlin was wearing that expression of loss and defeat. Arthur couldn't process the meaning of it, he wasn't able to connect the facts and come to a logical conclusion.

He almost didn't catch the small nod of Merlin's head, the response to Lucan's words.

And then his world was crashing to the ground in a storm of fire and suffering and he felt like his father died in his arms for the second time, but _worse_. And a voice inside him screamed and writhed as something deep and profound in his soul shredded in two and he couldn't run, he couldn't stop that man, _that_ _thief,_ from dragging a half-conscious Merlin out of the room, away from Camelot, away from _him_.

The second Arthur could move, his legs were leading him hot on their trail. His mind was filled only with thoughts of _Merlin_ and _come back_, when he jumped onto the first horse he found in the stables and set off in pursue like his life depended on it.

_Come think of it… it actually did._

Outside the castle the storm was getting stronger, sounds of thunder coming more frequently, like the weather itself reflected Arthur's raging state of mind. He could only remember bits and pieces of the hours he'd spent searching in the woods. The images of tracks washed down by the pouring rain, the sound of his horse neighing as it almost fell down a mud hole, the pain in his throat as he continued to shout in vain, the growing hole in his chest that hurt so badly he felt he couldn't breathe any more.

They had found him like this, his knights, and tried to ask him to turn back, to return to Camelot. But they couldn't possibly understand. For Arthur, turning back would mean accepting defeat, accepting that Merlin was gone for good. That the King would never even have the chance to _tell_ him that he wanted him back. Thus, returning to Camelot was simply unacceptable.

They managed to drag him back in the end. Though, by that time, everything that happened was starting to settle down inside Arthur's head and the strength that had been urging him to carry on for hours had began to fade.

He'd wanted nothing other than to be left alone then, at his lowest of lows. To be able to think, _really think_ of what had happened. How they had come to _this_. And also, the implications, the sheer _scale_ of it.

And once alone, in the silence and solitude of his chambers, Arthur's mind started processing everything. Not only the past days, but the years he had spent with Merlin by his side.

So, Merlin was a sorcerer. Apparently he'd been one forever. And he had never told Arthur. No. Instead, he'd prefer to lie to his master, play the part of a fool, while at the same time he was using his magical skills to protect both Arthur and Camelot. He had been aiding Arthur all along and not _cowering behind trees,_ as the King had never failed to make fun of_._

Merlin had been some strange kind of _saviour_, always hiding in the shadows, doing it all because someone_, a dragon _serving his own interests_,_ had apparently told him he was supposed to.

That hadn't sounded right to Arthur, though. He couldn't be sure if the Merlin he knew and the real Merlin, the sorcerer, were one and the same. But, it had been a long time since he'd first gotten the feeling that Merlin was staying with them _because_ of them. Though he might have been from Ealdor originally, Arthur always thought that Merlin had come to call Camelot his true home.

_Because your home is where your loved ones are. _

So, Arthur had come to the logical conclusion that Merlin couldn't have been doing whatever it was that he'd been doing for destiny's sake only. He must have done it for _them _too. Because he _cared_ about them all.

_That_ was the Merlin he, _they all_, knew. Selfless, caring.

And at that thought, Merlin's face from that day had come once again to Arthur's mind. In the growing darkness of his chambers, Arthur had seen once more the sorcerer's expression the moment he finally _looked_ at them. And the King of Camelot had come to the alarming realization that it was _then_, that precise moment and whatever the sorcerer had read in their faces, that had guided Merlin to make the decision he finally did.

He had judged both Arthur and Guinevere, the people he'd been calling his closest friends for years, and found them _lacking_.

Sorcerer or not, Arthur couldn't actually find it in him to stay angry at Merlin about that for too long, especially if what Lucan had said, that Merlin had been born that way, was true. The bottom line was that Merlin had been doing all he could for _their_ benefit. To keep _them_ safe. Arthur, Guinevere, Camelot. Hell, even Uther.

Though, apparently, that particular bit hadn't gone exactly as planned.

Arthur had been amazed at how unfazed the whole he-was-the-sorcerer-that-killed-my-father thing had truly left him. Perhaps it was what he had seen in the old sorcerer's eyes, that moment when his father's life faded away, the desperation and panic in the old man's -_Merlin's_- expression that Arthur had, back then, barely registered in the fury and grief of the moment. Or, it could have been what Gaius had said once about his father being already too close to death, and no matter how hard he'd tried, the old man couldn't have saved him. And Lucan's words as well had helped in their own way, implementing that something had indeed gone wrong...

In the end he'd come to accept it as what it had probably been. An accident that wasn't anyone's fault.

How Merlin must have felt to know he had unwillingly caused his friend and master such grief? Because if Arthur could be certain about one thing, that would be that Merlin wouldn't have forgiven himself easily. Merlin would forgive others when they wronged him in the blink of an eye, but when it came to his own mistakes…

How much had he really done for all of them? How many things had he sacrificed?

And what had _they_ done to repay him? What had _Arthur_, who was supposed to be closer to Merlin than _anyone_, done to reward him?

As the hours had gone by, one by one Arthur's past actions towards his manservant had returned to haunt him.

Of course, there'd always been the bantering. That seemed to have been the only way they could communicate. But underneath it all, Arthur had finally understood that their relationship had been greatly unbalanced. And that _he_ had been the deficient one, him that hadn't been good enough.

Again, Lucan's voice had struck deep in his soul.

"_What good has he done that hadn't been at the very least __suggested __by __you__?"_

Had he really been _that_ dependant on Merlin? He had asked for the man's advice _sometimes_, though most of the time the manservant hadn't needed to be asked at all to express his opinion. And how many times had Arthur actually taken Merlin's words seriously? Too few...

"_How many times did you save his life and the future of the entire Kingdom only to have __him __take all the credit?"_

A lot apparently... On every occasion where Gaius insisted something couldn't be defeated without magic, only to have his royal self come strutting back and declaring victory over the Old Religion once again, that had been Merlin's hand, tilting the scales in their favour for the hundredth time.

"_Or better yet, how many times did he cast away your advice only for you to be proven correct in the end?"_

From all the things Lucan had said, that had hurt Arthur the most. Because it was so painfully, _inexcusably_ true. How many times indeed.

Examples had been constantly coming back to him, one after the other. From Valiant, Sophia and the Troll step-mother, to the most recent, and definitely more painful, Agravaine. He had chosen to ignore so many of his manservant's warnings, without ever learning from his mistakes. He had preferred to believe his uncle's word instead of Merlin's.

_I did follow Merlin's advice at least sometimes, didn't I? Like with Elena, or Mithian._

Yes, the marriages. He had done what Merlin suggested both those times. Still, him listening to Merlin had more to do with the fact that it had been convenient for Arthur to follow the servant's advice then, since Merlin was telling him to do what Arthur actually wanted to, deep in his heart, than truly accepting Merlin word as wise. Arthur had merely used him as an excuse to do what he wanted and not feel guilty about being egoistic.

Whenever Merlin told him things Arthur didn't want to hear, like how he had been fooled, or deceived, or mistaken once again, the King's first reaction had always been to cast the man's words away as _rubbish_. Silly ideas coming from the mouth of a mindless idiot. Though he had known it even then that Merlin wasn't an idiot, not by far.

No, his manservant had always shown his own particular kind of _wisdom_. Something that Arthur himself had never truly possessed.

But if he knew Merlin was worth more than he showed for, why had he continued to think of him and treat him like a _lesser_ being? He had barely admitted he thought of the other man as a friend, in all the years of their acquaintance. Why_ was _that? Nothing, not even his father, could've stopped him when he'd decided that four peasant fighters were worthy of a knight's title, then what had been stopping him from admitting, to himself even, that Merlin was _more_ than a servant? That he was in fact a man whose advice had been proven sound again and again, most times sounder than that of the King's council? Never mind the sorcery that was clearly a _whole_ other issue.

_You just couldn't bear the thought of a peasant being proven wiser than you, could you? You hated that he was a better man than what you, for all your titles and power, could ever aspire to be..._

It had come too late, the realization that, perhaps, all this time he'd been growing _envious_ of Merlin and the man's talent to _always be right_.

And, it could just as well be that childish fit of jealousy that kept him from recognizing the asset he had on his side for all these years. That same delusion that had been driving him to always take what random individuals told him as the truth, just so that he would prove Merlin was wrong _for_ _once_.

Sadly, there wasn't any other explanation as to why he hadn't promoted Merlin as his first advisor the _moment_ they'd taken Camelot back from Morgana that second time.

Merlin _had_ done the job to the letter after all. Had told him the path that he should take, encouraged him at his lowest, offered him escape as well as a plan of retaliation. And that part with Morgana's powers mysteriously vanishing was now _reeking_ of Merlin's meddling.

His friend had done far better than Agravaine, could ever have done, even if his uncle had been on their side.

But it had never, for a second, crossed Arthur's mind to reward Merlin. No, the King had been perfectly content to keep everything exactly as it always was. Convenient and easy. He had his servant, his confidant and unofficial advisor, someone who he could use to blow steam off and get away with it, all in one man. Why should he had changed something that had been working so well? For _him_ at least.

Because of Merlin, that's why. Because in that perfect little world of Arthur's, Merlin had been the one to give everything, while the King was just taking without a second thought. And without really giving anything back in return.

The sad thing was that Merlin hadn't even realised all this until Lucan came and pointed it out to him. Though, if Arthur wanted to be completely honest with himself, his manservant hadn't been his usual self for a long time. And the last few days had been just... _unacceptable_.

Arthur was so ashamed now to recall what he'd said and done to Merlin that last week. He had taunted him, yelled at him, disregarded him. Guinevere had seen it, _disapproved_ of it . In a way, his companionate wife had foreseen _all_ of this. And she had _warned_ him. Sure, Arthur had the excuse of being under pressure, but now that he knew the truth about Merlin, he could only be humbled by the amount of responsibility the man's narrow shoulders held all the time. Humbled and shamed.

Merlin hadn't used anyone to yell at, to belittle so that he would feel better.

Once more, Arthur had been proven a lesser man, compared to Merlin. Once more he had failed him.

The fallen King shifted from his seated position on the cold stone floor to lie on his side. All this reminiscing and the guilt that consequently came with it, had taken its toll on his battered body. He was barely managing to stay awake as it is.

_This is my last night alive. My last hours on this earth._

What better time to finally face the truth of his actions? It was _he_ that drove Merlin to his limits, _his_ childish behavior, _his_ lack of concern, _his_ blatant misuse of their bond that had ended up in Merlin leaving.

Merlin gave up because of him. Because he came to the logical assumption that Arthur would never be his true friend, would never accept him as an equal. And the sorcerer finally understood he deserved better.

How could Arthur even accuse Merlin of doing something as rational as that?

Merlin had been stuck in limbo for years, bound to serve and protect a king that, as far as Merlin knew, would kill him the moment he learned what he actually was. Arthur had been the real fool, at the end. And Kings couldn't afford to be fools. Thus, now he was going to pay for his mistakes. And pay with his life.

As much as it scared the young King, and it scared the living hell out of him, he was slowly coming to see it as a fit punishment.

_Merlin isn't here to save me now. _

And he knew, deep inside, that if the sorcerer had had any idea of what would have happen to Camelot and Arthur after he left them, he wouldn't have done it in the first place. Merlin was _that_ selfless.

But he _had_ left. And the Kingdom had fallen right after his departure. And Arthur couldn't help but give up his hope of making it through this time. Neither he nor his people.

Their fate had been sealed by the thoughtless and ungrateful behavior of their leader.

They would pay as well for the wrongs that he'd done.

And so would Guinevere. His wife and Queen of two years, a widow. Her fate left at the hands of his cruel sister.

The last thing on his mind, before sleep won over him, was how arrogant he had been in the past while facing death. All that extraordinary luck, the impossible miracles, had made him disregard death as something that couldn't really touch him.

_No miracle for me this time._

* * *

The hooded man carefully made his way through the piles of crates and debris scattered around. The old warehouse situated at the end of the lower town had always been a dangerous place to tread. The many holes on the floors and half collapsed walls had always kept people at bay. So, with a weather such as this, it was only wise for the man to be extra vigilant.

He reached the dusty old canvas that covered half the far wall and reached to sharply knock twice at the door hidden behind it.

The small door creaked open and the man hunched under the thick fabric and got inside.

"Well? What did you see?" Percival asked him as soon as he got rid of the drenched cloak.

"I only made as far as the north gate of the castle before I almost run to a patrol. But I managed to get a glimpse of the courtyard. They've set up a platform, executioner's block already upon it," said Gwaine grimly, as he moved to stand by the small table at the corner of the room, where Elyan was sitting, sharpening his sword in silence.

"Where are the others?" Gwaine asked when he realized there was no one else in the small room but the three of them.

"They said they needed to arrange a few things for tomorrow. Leon went to help," answered Elyan, setting the sword on the side to turn and look at the other two.

"They better return soon, because time isn't something we have spare here," the other knight commented.

Percival threw him a blanket. "Try to get some sleep. Never know when you'll get the chance to do so next…"

"I got my share of sleep yesterday at that alley you ditched me. I think I can find something more useful to do for the next couple of hours or so."

The other two knights just nodded silently. Gwaine took up his own sword and mimicked Elyan's actions.

Not long after he'd finished sharpening both his sword and his smaller dagger, a quick knock sounded at the door.

* * *

The sound of metal clinging awoke Arthur. He must had fallen asleep for some hours. The rain must had stopped at some point during the night, leaving the castle strangely soundless at this rather late hour of the morning.

Outside his cell, one of the guards was fiddling with the keys, trying to find the right one nervously. Arthur saw that behind him stood a couple of Alined's knights, along with one man that belonged to Morgana's bloodguard.

_The time is here._

He got to his feet slowly, managing not to flinch as the pain from the previous day's injuries flared inside him. If these were his final minutes on the world, then the least he could do was spend them with his head held high. It was only proper for a King to die with honor.

_And I owe it to myself. At least I can do that part right._

As soon as the cell's door was opened, the bloodguard man walked to him without hesitation. He was holding shackles and chains in his arms. With some help from the prison guards, he quickly tied Arthur's hands on the front, and hooked the shackles to the chain.

_Herded like an animal to the slaughter. _

When they were sure he was secured enough as not to escape, they led him out of the cell.

As Arthur passed through the dungeon's dimly lit passage, he could see his knights inside the cells that surrounded him. They were all on their feet, clinging to the bars, watching with fire in their eyes as their King walked by them one final time. Arthur didn't manage to spot any of his closest friends between them. For a brief moment, the King dared to hope that some of his men might had escaped this fate.

And, at the sight of his Knights, imprisoned yet far from broken, Arthur felt his strength somewhat returning to him.

He could do this. For them, for his knights, he would be the strong King he ought to.

When they made it to the larger guarding area that lead to the staircase, Arthur almost took a step back at the sight that greeted him there. Standing guard by the entrance to the dungeons was a magical creature, a _giant statue_ of some sort, which strongly reminded Arthur of the gargoyles that had once attacked the city.

The stone man didn't move as the small procession came to a halt beside him.

Another group of men, some of them knights, though most mere mercenaries by the look of them, came to view. Their leader, another member of the bloodguard, approached Arthur holding a piece of fabric.

"Her Majesty's orders," he said as he reached to the King and placed a simple grey hood on his head, making it impossible for him to see anything.

"It's probably for the better," the man added as an afterthought. Beside Arthur, one of the men, a _knight, _ifArthur remembered correctly_,_ snorted half amused half irritated.

"What, afraid _the King_ will mess his pants when he sees the headsman's axe? It'd be only appropriate… That _Brog_ fellow sure is a beast if I ever saw one…" he joked as they slowly moved up the stairs.

"Did you hear what he did to those knights they caught yesterday?" another man added nonchalantly. At that, Arthur's whole body tensed, his full attention on the upcoming answer.

"How could I not? I was on patrol at the time, and just the _sounds_ those poor buggers made… I'm telling you, the stuff of _nightmares_…"

Arthur's heart sank. And yet he had no time to properly mourn his fallen men. Instead, he prayed to God they'd met a warrior's death in battle.

They must had reached the entrance to the courtyard, because he heard one of them move to lift something heavy, and then he was hit by the smell of wet ground that filled the chilly air outside.

There was a low sound coming from the courtyard, and Arthur could recognize it came from a great mass of individuals, gathered there in relative silence. Beside the sound of his people, Arthur could also hear a steady booming of thunders originating from somewhere very high above them.

It all lasted until Arthur stepped one foot outside.

Then it was a blur of voices, of angry and desperate shouts, rising all around him, in an effort to reach and empower the condemned King. Even the sky roared louder the moment Arthur stepped out.

He could do nothing else other than keep walking as straight as he could, his head held high despite the rough shoving on his chained hands. He was determined to at least make his people proud of their King this one last time.

The procession reached the steps and he was forced to climb them. Soon, Arthur found himself guided to kneel on the wooden stage. His head was pushed forward and, suddenly, he felt vulnerable, lying there so utterly exposed. Helpless.

They lifted his hood then. He squinted his eyes instinctively, the light not too bright, but still strong enough to bring tears in his eyes. When he could see more clearly, his eyes turned immediately to the high balcony, where _she_ was standing.

_His Gwen_.

From the minute he stepped out of his cell, Arthur hadn't once thought of wanting to escape. He didn't believe he could hope for anything like that. But the moment his eyes met the bloodshot one's of his beloved wife, he wished with all the strength that remained in him that he _could_ escape.

_Just one more miracle, Merlin. Please_.

Morgana had already began her speech but Arthur couldn't care enough to listen.

"People of Camelot…" she addressed them, and Arthur prayed for the miracle one final time.

It wouldn't come. He didn't have any more time to wait for it.

Instead, he found that he wanted it all to finally _be done with,_ as quickly as possible.

He closed his eyes as he heard Morgana finish triumphantly and then the headsman was shifting behind him, lifting the axe.

_No, no miracle this time_, was the last thought on his mind.

The next moment, so many things happened at once, that he couldn't really follow any of it. The executioner, along with his axe fell back, resulting in a loud thud that was masked by the sudden screams resonating from the crowd. At the same time, a thick cloud of white fog surrounded the platform, concealing it from all eyes.

Arthur couldn't see anything, the fog burning his eyes like hot smoke. He tried to lift himself on his feet. Behind him he could hear men shouting and the characteristic clanging of swords. A hand suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him forwards, while another swiftly clang to his leg and pulled. With a sharp yell, Arthur fell face down on the hard wood, though not before he managed to place his bound hands in front of him to protect his head from the hard impact.

He heard a sickening crack as pain bloomed from a place high up on his chest. He had no time to think about it though, because, almost immediately, someone grabbed his chains and dragged him to his feet. The person came close to him and threw some kind of cloth over Arthur, _a cloak_ he realized, and then proceeded to guide the injured King through a mob of moving bodies that had suddenly appeared around them.

He heard the unmistakable shouts of spells coming from afar, and he could make out that Morgana's distinctive shriek was amongst the voices wielding them.

As the pain on his chest started getting really excruciating, Arthur felt his knees give out on him and he almost tripped, blind as he was still, on the stone floor. The man with him paused, sensing this, lifted the King easily in his arms and then just took off.

* * *

So, what do you think? Liked it? Please say that you did...

As always, your reviews motivate me and generally give me strength so they're most definitely welcomed!

And sorry about the chapter being so huge… It was kind of necessary for the story.


	9. Chapter 8: On the move

A/N: Thank you all for the feedback! I really appreciate everything you have to say. And I'm really glad people liked how Arthur's execution turned out in the end.

Now we move on to the next chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 8 : On the move**

George gripped the tray in his hands tighter as he passed by the Great Hall's entrance. He could hear Lady Morgana's voice booming like thunder even behind the closed doors. The angry shrieking of the witch, the madness of her words, terrified the poor manservant. Though, at the same time, he couldn't help but feel a sliver of excitement when he thought about the _cause_ of Morgana's rage.

He quickly turned at the end of the hallway and climbed the staircase to the top of the tower. Two mercenaries were standing guard outside the wooden doors of the secluded chambers.

"I-I was told to bring food to the Princess and take care of th-_her_ rooms…" he stuttered, painfully aware of the way the two men were eying him like he was but an insect waiting to be crushed. A few moments passed and then one of them grunted at the servant and turned to unlock the door.

Thankful to be escaping the cold glare of the guards, George gulped and promptly stepped inside. Behind him, the door shut again with a bang, the key turning in the lock once more.

"George!" he heard someone address him urgently. Lifting his eyes, George came face to face with the Queen of Camelot.

Queen Guinevere was looking at him with wide eyes. She was in a black dress, her hair disheveled and her hands trembling as she moved to get up from where she was sitting and approached him. Beside her, Princess Mithian was looking equally nervous, constantly shooting concerned glances towards the other woman.

"My Lady…" George said respectively, bowing his head to the captured Queen. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly at his address, a sad smile dawning on her tired face. It disappeared as soon as it had formed, replaced by an apprehensive frown.

"George, _please tell us…_ what is going on out there?" she begged him, her eyes never leaving him for a second. "Has she caught… _is_ _Arth_- has he _escaped_?" she managed to say, her voice faltering, full of worry and fear.

The servant wasn't sure how to answer that. Seeing the Queen in such a state, so _distraught_, was something completely foreign to him. Thankfully, Princess Mithian rose from her seat and went to place a comforting hand on the Queen's trembling shoulder. After a few moments, Guinevere's eyes started watering, clearly misinterpreting the man's silence for bad news. He rushed to reassure her.

"No, no, no! He's- I mean… _yes_, my Lady. The King has apparently escaped," he finished, trying to sound as formal as he could giving the news to the Queen, though given her current situation and emotional state, she was obviously beyond caring about complying to normal protocol.

Queen Guinevere shut her eyes tightly and let out a broken sob, tears running freely down her cheeks. She let Princess Mithian guide her to a chair where she immediately slumped down.

George took the chance to place the tray he was still carrying on the table beside her and then took a step back, leaving the two women in a respectful distance. Next, he moved to make the bed, as he ought to. He finished quickly and stood by to regard his handiwork, looking quite satisfied. The bed cover was neatly tucked in, the pillows perfectly in place. Just as they should be.

_At least I can provide some order in this messy situation._

He had always felt extremely uncomfortable at the sight of weeping women. He never knew how he should behave in order to _appease_ them. And in the case of the Queen and her _dire_ predicament, he wasn't really sure it was even possible.

He was snapped out of his thoughts by Princess Mithian's steady voice, asking him if he could please continue.

"You have to tell us everything. You were down in the courtyard when it happened, weren't you George? Tell us, what did you see?" she demanded.

Well, that he could do easily.

"Yes, your highness. I was by the side of the main entrance when it…happened," he began, "I saw the smoke…_mist_, whatever it was, and also some figures stirring inside it. Heard sounds of a battle taking place. Then the Lady Morg…" he paused, feeling too awkward to even mention the evil witch by name in front of her two captives, "well, _she_ started shouting, what I could only describe as _spells- do _forgive me- at the mist and then another figure, a _man,_ came out of the cloud of fog and said some other magical nonsense and then, well, _you_ were closer to her… she fell back and the others disappeared amongst the mist and the panicked crowd, taking the King with them…"

He finished his story and waited.

"Did you recognize the man?" he heard a small voice, Queen Guinevere's, ask him.

He was startled by her question. He had indeed been situated closer to the mysterious man than the two women who, at that time, had been standing on the balcony, but he couldn't really remember anything more than a vague outline and a male voice.

"What do you mean, your Majesty?" he asked her, perplexed.

Princess Mithian, in a show of impatience, answered for her.

"George, was that man, that sorcerer, at all _familiar_ to you?" she asked urgently. When the servant didn't stop eyeing her with bewilderment, she added, "Do you think it could have been _Merlin_?"

George's shock when he realized what the Princess implied left him speechless.

_So the rumors were true! Uncanny…_

Merlin _was_ a sorcerer! _That's_ why he disappeared. The servant's mind seemed to have stuck at that thought, unable to process anything else for at least a few lingering moments.

_So I'd spent __**a **__**week**__ teaching __**a sorcerer**__ how to properly polish every possible surface? _

The two women were watching him expectantly and with growing levels of nervousness, so the servant didn't waste any more time pondering the implications of the previous revelation. He brought the image of the man to his mind again. The figure in the mist that was perhaps even wearing a _hood_ of some sort. That _voice_ chanting the spell amidst screams and panicked shouts.

"No…" he said finally. " I don't believe it was him. He was definitely a bit shorter, larger too. His voice sounded… well, strange. But he _was_ casting _magic_ at the time…" he pointed out, trying to retell every detail he could remember.

Mithian nodded, looking pensive, but the Queen reacted much more intensely. She looked so broken, so defeated. It made the servant's stomach clench, the sight of his ruler so desperate…

_How can __**we**__, the people, hope, when even our leaders have fallen…_

"I can't believe he didn't come… He must really _hate_ us then," Guinevere said in a monotonous voice. Her eyes were clouded, her mind obviously traveling somewhere far away. Some place dark.

The Princess drew a shaky breath and then reached for the forgotten tray of food. She filled a cup with fresh water and handed it to the Queen.

"Here, drink," she said gently. The other woman took the cup gingerly and brought it absentmindedly to her lips.

"He _doesn't_ hate you, Gwen. None of you. He _refused_ to leave without knowing you'd be safe, remember…? He probably hasn't heard it yet. You'll see, he'll be here as soon as he finds out what happened."

It was surprising, to say the least, for George to hear the two royals talking that way about a _sorcerer_. Because that's what they were talking about.

_A_ _sorcerer_.

_Merlin_.

Then again, Merlin _had_ always been very close to the Queen, even before her marriage to King Arthur, and elevation to her queenly status.

If they had been friends back then, perhaps they still were. Even if _he_ was now an outlaw and _she_ a royal.

"George," Princess Mithian addressed him again, "What about _Morgana_? How has she reacted to all of this?"

The servant shuddered even thinking of the false queen. But he did answer the question.

"She was _extremely_ angry, my Lady. She cursed and yelled, even stroke down some of her own men with magic! She has closed the castle's gates, and has placed guards in every exit of the outer walls. The lower town is filled with her men, searching every corner to find them. She is _sure_ they haven't left the city yet… Every servant in the castle is under orders not to step one foot outside on penalty of _death_."

The two women looked at each other, once more looking troubled. George hesitated for a second, wondering if it was wise to upset them even more. He decided it was best to tell them the entire truth.

"Just now, on my way up here, I could hear her _screaming_ in the Great Hall. She is… it's like she has gone mad… She kept repeating this phrase… "_It was Emrys!"_ saying it again, and again. She sounded…_insane,_" he added, his voice strangely low.

Something in Princess Mithian's eyes shined upon hearing that. "See..." she said, turning to face the Queen, "_she_ thinks it's Merlin. She's _afraid_ of him, Gwen. Even now. And Arthur, he's still _alive_. There is hope for us yet…"

The Queen looked like she was thinking over what the other woman had just said. Finally, she turned her gentle eyes towards George.

"Thank you for telling us, George. You are very loyal. But, I'm afraid I must ask you for _one more_ task. A very important one. Will you be willing to do it?" she asked him, carefully.

The only way George could ever respond was with an affirmative nod. He was scared, of course he was, but he would die a hundred times over before he bailed on a task placed upon him.

"Good," she said, giving him a small smile.

"I want you to keep your eyes and ears open. Whatever you learn, you are to report it to me or Princess Mithian. Especially if it is about the King or about Merlin, _Emrys_ as Morgana might call him. You must be very careful too… Do you understand, George?"

He most certainly did.

"I do, your highness. I will not fail you…" he managed to say, before the sound of keys turning inside the lock alerted him that the time had come for his visit to end.

* * *

Arthur could hear a low whisper of voices coming from a distance. He opened his eyes only to find that he was lying someplace dark, covered with a thick blanket. When he tried to lift himself up, so he could take in his surroundings properly, he felt a sharp pain flaring in his upper chest, causing him to let out a deep moan and fall back on the small cot.

The talking came to an abrupt end and, in an instant, he was surrounded by familiar faces. First he recognized Sir Leon. The older knight looked worried as he was leaning over the King's lying form. Next to him was Sir Elyan, and in the back Percival and Gwaine. Arthur tried to focus less on the pain and more on his friends. They all looked worn-out, their faces dirty and their eyes sad, but despite it all, they were _alive_. A warm feeling of gratitude and, surprisingly, _righteousness_ overwhelmed Arthur. And if the King's vision blurred, just for a bit, no one would ever know his tears were ones of joy and not pain.

"Sire. _Arthur_… You're awake." Leon spoke first, sounding somewhere between relieved and nervous.

"Wh- Where am I? _What happened_?" Arthur asked, his voice coming out of his throat hoarse. He could recall the last moments on that platform, when the axe was lifted and he'd shut his eyes waiting for his end to come, but, from that point on, it was all a bit of a blur.

"You are _safe_ now, Sire. We came for you," the older knight reassured him.

Arthur tried hard to concentrate, to remember.

"But…_how_?" he blurted, still confused and a bit uncertain.

_Is this even real? _

It was Elyan's turn to answer the question.

"We… had _help_. When they were about to kill you, _we_ got in the way… Created a bit of distraction, a _diversion,_ if you will, and managed to snatch you off Morgana's clutches. Unfortunately, you were injured in the process. Percival practically had to carry you all the way here after you lost consciousness, due to the pain, I would imagine. It all happened only a few hours ago…"

His foggy memories slowly became clearer hearing his friend's explanations. He remembered the cloud or better yet _smoke_ of some sort. It had appeared out of nowhere, burning his eyes and nose. And then he remembered the headsman's axe, how it fell away _moments_ before it descended upon his bare neck. He might have been a little dazed from everything still, but Arthur had learned his lesson now. He could finally recognize magic when he saw it. When _it_ _saved_ him.

Voices sounded in his head. A _memory_. It was Morgana's voice, shouting out a spell and then another voice, a man this time, answering her in the same way.

_Had it really been __**him**__?_

"_Merlin_?" he asked, his voice sounding strangely small and uncertain. He held his breath, waiting for the answer to come.

"No. It was _me_," another voice, a _stranger_, answered him. Arthur tried to lift his head again, but the pain stopped him before he could really see who had spoken. The Knights around him stiffened. Leon's body straightened, and beside him Elyan half turned towards the mysterious man. Even Gwaine and Percival looked ill at ease.

Seeing the King's frustration, Percival moved to Arthur's side and grabbed him securely from his uninjured side, helping him get to a sitting position.

Arthur could finally observe the rest of his surroundings. He was in a small room, with nothing more than a table, his own cot and a few half-broken chairs as furniture. It was rather dark too, the only light coming from a couple of candles.

Arthur was surprised to see not one, but _two_ unfamiliar figures before him, standing behind the line of his knights. They were wearing dark cloaks, which covered any other clothing underneath. In the half light, Arthur can barely make out their faces.

"Who _are_ you?" the King asked, after seeing both of the strangers were content to remain silent, waiting. The older one of the two stepped closer.

"My name is Alator of the Catha," the man provided simply. He spoke oddly, his pronunciation of words hard and obviously foreign. Arthur's knights reluctantly stepped to the side while the man moved to where the King was lying. Up close, Arthur could finally take a better look at the man. He was bald, his features rough, though he wore an expression that was mild, if not a little guarded. The King didn't fail to notice a trail of strange marks on the man's neck. They reminded him of the way Druid's marked their skin, though _these_ were a lot more unusual in their shape.

"You… you have magic then?" he inquired of the other man.

Alator nodded in response.

If the King was in a better condition he would have started laughing then. Another sorcerer in Camelot! Either magic users were extremely good at hiding, or there was something very wrong with Camelot's level of security.

_Well, apparently __**Merlin**__ was the only security we had all these years… No wonder the city fell the moment he left._

Even his thought tasted bitter. He tried to shift in his place, but the small movement made the pain rise once more, and the King just grinded his teeth and _swore_.

"You shouldn't move. You fell when we were rescuing you," the sorcerer told him, and then moved to sit on the corner of his cot. The man's hands reached for the loose tunic the King was wearing, and then pushed the hem down, exposing Arthur's neck and right shoulder.

He prodded lightly with his finger. Arthur didn't manage to suppress a hiss.

"Your right clavicle is broken," Alator stated, a frown marring his forehead.

The King could easily imagine what his injury looked like. He had seen enough wounds similar to this to know exactly how they bruised, the swelling that formed around them, and of course the excruciating pain they caused.

Not something one wanted when they were _on the run_.

He decided to ignore both his wound and the sorcerer for now. Too much to deal with.

"Where are we anyway?" he asked Leon, trying to turn his mind to an easier subject.

"In an abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of the lower town. Though we can't stay here long. Any minute now, we could be found. Morgana herself could very well walk in _right now_, and there's little to nothing we could do to stop her," he finished, sounding tired.

The sorcerer, who had been busy checking out Arthur's wound, while the King tried to pretend the man wasn't even there, shook his head slightly at that.

"We have some hours at the very best. I should definitely take care of _this_ first, -I was about to before, but then you woke up- and after that we'll move on to think of an escape plan…" he said, gesturing towards Arthur.

That caused the King's attention to turn back to the sorcerer. The man looked at him expectantly, raising his eyebrows in question.

Like he was waiting for Arthur to say something. To give his _permission_.

"Wait… _What_?" the King asked incredulous. "You want to take care of it _with magic?_"

"How else would you suggest mending a broken bone, when _time_ is something we simply do not possess…?" the other man said matter-of-factly.

Arthur could see the point, of course, but _still_… He didn't even _know_ the man and he was expected to just accept this, just like that?

_Well he __**did**__ save your life mere hours ago…_

"But- _How_ can I…?" he hesitated, feeling overwhelmed.

It was Gwaine who understood what Arthur wanted to say, but couldn't really find the words to express.

"He knows _Merlin_, Arthur. He is his _friend_, apparently…" the knight told him calmly, though the King didn't miss the catch in his voice when he said the name of their absent companion.

The other knights, finally catching up with Gwaine's reasoning, stepped in to agree with him. It was Leon, surprisingly, that bluntly said it.

"You _can_ trust Alator, Sire. He is on our side," he said, looking uncharacteristically _exposed_ as he waited for the King to answer_._

A sudden realization hit Arthur then.

_Of course_. _They're afraid of __**me**__, of my reactions. _

_They have consorted with a sorcerer and it's against the law._

He couldn't help the sudden feeling of disappointment that surged in him. His own men, _scared_ of him, of how he would respond upon learning they had sought the aid of a sorcerer in saving his own damn _skin_.

_Do they really think I'm that stubborn? That stupid? That I learned __**nothing**__ from all of this?_

_Am I __**that**__ unworthy of theirs, of anyone's, trust?_

Mistaking his silence as a sign of reluctance to believe them, Gwaine reached for the pouch on his belt and procured a folded piece of paper, placing it upon the King's lap in one smooth move.

"What is this…" Arthur wondered, taking the paper in the palm of his hand. The moment he opened it, his breath left him at the sight of the so painfully familiar handwriting. In the low light, it was difficult for him to follow everything the letter wrote, but just knowing it was _Merlin's_ made Arthur want to crawl on his side and _weep_. He didn't do that though. Instead, he just gulped and, when he felt like he could manage to speak again, asked hoarsely.

"Whe… where did you get this? What does it say_?_"

Alator regarded the King with a hint of sadness in his eyes.

"That piece of paper is the reason that I'm here. Merlin sent this letter to me a few days ago, asking for information and _help_. He wished to know if I had heard of the rumors that had reached Camelot, claiming that the Lady Morgana had been killed. He also mentioned the meeting that was taking place here between the kingdom's allies. He was growing restless you see, afraid that something was coming…" the man paused, lifting his eyebrows suggestively. Arthur lowered his eyes, ashamed. "The moment I read the letter, I knew I had to come here and _warn _him. I _knew_ Morgana was very much alive and, more importantly, I had heard from a trusted source that she had been frequently visiting King Alined's castle. You can imagine my surprise when I arrived in Camelot not two days ago only to find the city was already under attack and learn that _Merlin_ _was gone_."

Arthur's head snapped back at the accusatory tone in the other man's voice.

_Your fault, _he could imagine Alator wording his accusations.

The King's face hardened at that. He already had enough people to answer to, he didn't have to do it to _Alator of the Catha_ as well.

"Please, there is no time for this," Leon, always the voice of reason, intervened. "_Arthur_, let the man treat your wound. We need to leave this place as soon as possible…" he pointed, wanting to prevent the upcoming fight.

The King turned to the sorcerer, Merlin's letter clutched firmly in the palm of his hand, the neat writing giving a soothing kind of comfort to Arthur's raging mind, and gave one curt nod in response.

"Do it then."

* * *

They had stopped for lunch at a small lake. Merlin had seen it as an opportunity to stretch his legs and quickly took off to explore the shores on foot. He needed to take his mind off of all these recurring thoughts that had been constantly driving him mad from the moment he had left Camelot.

He was coming back from his stroll when he bumped into Declan. Merlin had been slightly favoring his right side, since his wound had started bothering him once again due to the stress of all the riding. The other man greeted him with a nod and continued with his task. He had moved from where the rest of the group was situated in order to wash some dirty clothes in clear water. The sleeves of his tunic were rolled up, and the warlock could easily see the Druid markings that decorated his arms.

"You're a Druid then. I thought so before, but wasn't really sure 'till now," he remarked.

The other man gave Merlin a half smile and lifted his eyebrow suggestively.

"_Guilty_… Though, I _could_ say the same about you, you know. _You_ are _hurt_. I suspected as much, but now I'm sure," he retorted, gesturing with a hand towards the warlock's left side.

Merlin sat down on a rock beside him, careful not to get too wet by all the splattered cold water.

"_Guilty_…" he replied, turning his eyes to gaze at the beautiful landscape before him. "It's nothing too serious. Just a wound that I got a few days ago. It's healing just fine, it only bothers me from time to time…" he trailed off.

Declan returned to his chore, choosing to remain silent. Merlin felt oddly _calm_ at that moment. If it was the fact that he had overtired himself _just enough_ to take his mind off things, or that the view of the lake reminded him strangely of the lake of Avalon, or even Declan's calming presence, he didn't know. But a feeling of tentative peace started spreading inside the young warlock. Something he hadn't felt in a while.

He didn't realize the druid had finished his washing, and was now staring at him until the other man decided to speak.

"Do you want me to help you with your wound?" he asked, his eyes searching Merlin's face for approval.

"I've already tried a spell. It didn't work," the warlock answered.

Declan wasn't fazed by the warlock's response.

"Let me try at least. I have a talent for healing, you know. After all, I am a druid," he smiled wryly.

The warlock finally nodded. He reluctantly lifted his tunic, exposing the injury. He had removed the dressing the previous day and already it was looking better in Merlin's opinion. The swelling had more or less subsided and even the scab had smoothed considerably.

Declan placed his hand upon the injury and muttered a healing incantation.

"_**Purhhaele dolgbenn…"**_

Almost immediately, the wound started to recede, settling in a small, almost untraceable scar. Merlin was left amazed by the spell's effects.

"That wouldn't have happened if I'd been the one to try it," he said in a small voice. The druid gave him an amused glance, and moved to get up.

"I have spent a lot of time perfecting my healing skills. It takes both persistence and study to be _this_ efficient. Even the Great Emrys would need practice!" he joked lightly with the younger man, patting him on the shoulder.

Merlin got up and walked towards the others, trailing behind the druid. The warlock was certain some of the Ostian knights had seen what Declan had just done, but none of them had reacted in any way. It made him feel _lighter_ somehow, just the knowledge that these people were all used to magic being cast around them. That it was something ordinary, _normal_ for them.

For the first time in days, Merlin truly _forgot_ about Camelot and about Arthur. He let his mind lock all the painful thoughts and memories away and decided to at least give it a try, _enjoy_ his newly found freedom. He could already feel the burden on his chest ease up a little bit.

He turned to his left side and realized it didn't hurt any more when he moved. A hesitant laugh had escaped his mouth before he even realized it.

Declan turned regarding him inquisitively.

"It's nothing really," Merlin responded, now genuinely grinning. "I just realized that I could probably do magic right here, _right now,_ and no one will give it a second thought. It's so… _liberating!_ I mean, I should have figured it sooner, the _Prince_ of your Kingdom is a magic user after all, of course mag…"

He trailed off when he heard Declan's amused sniggering.

"The Prince isn't a _sorcerer_, Merlin!" he barely managed to say. "_Upon my word_, boy! You sure need a lot of studying yet, if you thought _Lucan,_ of all people, had magic…" he muttered, still grinning. The grin dropped off his face when he saw Merlin's confused frown.

"You really didn't know?" he asked almost disbelievingly. "He used command phrases to control the stone's power. Some magical artifacts can be used in this manner. There is no need for the user to possess any magical skill, he just says the words…" he explained. "Look, I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable, Merlin. I really didn't think it through. _Of course_ you wouldn't know, you were living in Camelot for goodness sake! _Where_ would you even learn…"

"No, it's alright. Actually, I think I have encountered something similar in the past. It's fine…" the warlock tried to say lightly, covering for his ignorant mistake.

It _was_ embarrassing though. There he was, the alleged _most powerful sorcerer ever to live_ and he was lacking in so many basic magical knowledge. His thoughts drifted to his magic book, now lying forgotten underneath the wooden planks of his bedroom.

His _old_ bedroom.

He stopped before his mind could lead him towards Camelot. Not again.

That was all in the past.

_In Ostia I'll have all the books I could ever wish for about magic and all the time in the world to really study them._

He would have the chance to finally _master_ his craft.

"That was the snake incident, wasn't it? With that _knight_ that was cheating in the tournament…?" Prince Lucan's voice suddenly brought Merlin back from his musings.

_There it is again. How does he do it?_

While Merlin had been lost in thought, the Prince of Ostia had joined the two men's company. He was regarding the younger man with fondness, patiently waiting for an answer.

"Yes…" Merlin answered him slowly. His mind had started reeling again.

"You never told me, though, Prince Lucan… Exactly _how_ do you know all these details about_ my life_? You mentioned magic, but I learn now you're _not_ a magic user. So, if you don't mind me asking, my Lord, how _did_ you do it?"

Merlin hadn't began with the intention to sound so persistent, but the more he thought about it, the more it puzzled him. He wanted to know what the Prince was _hiding_.

He remembered what he had crossed his mind when he first met Lucan. He'd felt as if he could trust him, but at the same time he had been certain the man was hiding something.

And, after _that day_, Merlin hadn't really had the time to think about all that.

Until _now_ that is.

And his mind, again, told him there was more to the story than _these two_ let on.

"I told you, Merlin, it's hardly important," Lucan dismissed with a gesture of his hand and a slightly forced laugh. "What do you say, are you ready to move on? We _do_ want to arrive at Ostia tomorrow after all…" he said, in a way that could only make it more obvious he was trying to change the subject.

_Smooth. Very, very smooth… _

"Oh, I think it _is_, though," the warlock replied in a low tone, suddenly sounding completely serious, if not a bit threatening.

"It's a simple question, _Sire_. I can't understand why a man who had nothing to hide wouldn't answer. How. Did you. Do it?" he said coldly, his eyes falling hard, almost accusing, on the other man's face.

Both Lucan and Declan tensed at the sudden change in Merlin's mood. Even the rest of the men around them had gone quiet, catching up on the growing tension between the warlock and the Prince.

But Lucan didn't reply then either. He just lowered his eyes, unable to stand Merlin's hard stare any longer.

Seeing that action, one Merlin could only interpret as a confession of guilt from Lucan's part, nearly made the warlock lash out.

The calmness and peace he had managed to achieve just minutes ago evaporated, and the now very familiar feeling of anger was coursing through him once more.

How _dare_ this man hide things from him? Merlin had given up _everything_ after listening to Lucan's words, and, all along, the Prince was keeping _secrets_ from him? And not just any secrets, mind you, but ones that _obviously_ had to do with Merlin himself?

The warlock turned his back on the two men abruptly. He could sense his magic was rising dangerously inside him. Better to leave now than do anything he might regret later on.

He stormed off, heading for the horses, in an effort to calm himself down as much as he could.

Behind him, he heard Lucan's voice calling him, sounding upset. He couldn't find it in himself to care though…

If Lucan didn't want to tell him, then so be it.

But Merlin wasn't going to let anyone else walk all over him, not again. Never again.

Lucan had said he wanted him to truly become Emrys.

_Well you should be careful what you wish for._

* * *

Night had come, when they finally were ready to move. They had been divided into two small groups. Alator and his companion were ahead along with Gwaine, and behind them followed Arthur, Percival, Elyan and Leon. They were all wearing dark cloaks, in order to make them look even less distinguishable in the dark, a courtesy of their new sorcerer ally.

Arthur had regarded the items very suspiciously when he had first been presented with his own, knowing almost certainly they were stolen.

But then again, _beggars can't be choosers_, a familiar voice in his head reminded him.

"_So we'll be separated into two groups?" Elyan said, repeating the plan they had finally agreed upon._

"_Yes," Alator responded. "I will be in the first one, the smaller one. I'll clear the way, create a diversion and send the guards and anyone else Morgana has placed at the outer wall gates away, long enough for the three of you to help the King get out of the city."_

_Arthur still wasn't happy about that part. "I can make it on my own just fine…" he protested meekly. _

"_Your bone may have mended but that wasn't your only injury, Arthur Pendragon. All of us have risked our lives for you. Try to __**respect **__**that**__, at least, if nothing else…" the sorcerer deadpanned, making Arthur's face red, either with embarrassment or anger, even the King wasn't very sure._

_It felt so frustrating to know he was useless. A burden._

_But they were right of course. He was still too weak, too unreliable to even move on his own, let alone fight…_

"_We have to be extra careful though," Percival intervened, turning the conversation back to the burning matter. "We don't have any horses, if they see us, even __**suspect**__ us, they'll hunt us down, and there is only so far we can go on foot, especially when our pursuers are on horseback." _

_Alator nodded. "I'll be able to erase our trails once we're in the forest."_

_Leon continued relaying the plan. "Once in the forest, we take the northeast path towards the village of Herdsdale."_

_The others nodded in confirmation. _

_The village had been Arthur's idea. They had come to the conclusion that the only chance they had was to escape Morgana's grip and try to regroup someplace else. Perhaps find allies to help them. Arthur wasn't at all keen at the idea of leaving Guinevere at the hands of his sister, but he too could see the logic in the plan. So, they needed to find a place to go, somewhere safe and also not too far from Camelot, but not too close either. _

_Herdsdale was the first village that popped in the King's mind. It was relatively close, a half day ride –or a day's walk depending on one's means of traveling- and it had been were Gaius had gone off to, to treat some patients. _

_With him, the old physician had taken not one, but two knights. _

_Going to find Gaius had also seemed a very rational thing to do. _

_To the others he had said that they would need a skilled physician and wise advisor like Gaius to help them. He added that two extra knights would prove invaluable and that the village was perfect for them to hide and reorganize. _

_To himself though, he couldn't lie. _

_Arthur knew that if there was one person in the world who could clear things up, explain everything about Merlin and his secret, that person would be Gaius._

_And deep inside him, Arthur couldn't help but hope that, despite everything that had been said, Gaius could be the one to persuade the young man he regarded as his own son to come back._

_Somehow._

_In any case, the old physician deserved to hear the truth from them._

_He felt Leon's arm rest upon his shoulder._

"_Try to rest as much as you can, Sire. In a few hours, we move…" _

The second group stopped as they closed in on their destination. The Gate. Arthur blessed their good luck for having managed to make it that far without meeting any of the roaming patrols. Leon led them to hide behind a convenient pile of barrels.

They sat there and waited.

Up ahead, barely visible in the night, they could see the moving forms of the first group. They disappeared from sight just before they reached the Gate.

Arthur was too far to count them all properly, but, after a rough estimation, he would say there were perhaps a dozen men standing guard before them.

They all waited in silence for the first part of their plan to be put into action.

They didn't need to wait too long.

"_What was that?"_ Arthur heard a distant voice call.

"_Someone's there… Show yourself!"_ another one yelled.

Holding their breaths, they finally heard the sound of footsteps running, disappearing in the distance. Leon dared to lift his head a little and see what was happening.

"Only six of them left at the gate now. One of them is definitely Bloodguard though," he whispered. "Wait. They're moving," he added.

"Gwaine and the others slipped behind them!" Leon informed them triumphantly.

Arthur let out a silent sigh of relief.

Though as it turned out it had been too soon for them to celebrate.

"They're coming towards us!" Leon hissed, ducking his head once more. The four men froze, trying to keep completely still, praying that it would be enough to let them go unnoticed. The footsteps came louder every second.

Closer and closer. They stopped.

And at that precise moment, one of the barrels on the pile _fell_, causing a loud commotion that probably was heard throughout the entire lower town.

Percival cursed and turned to look at the others.

"_Protect the King!"_ he ordered his companions and quickly jumped out of his cover, breaking into a frantic run. Arthur's head shot up, his eyes wide as he followed his knight's dark form heading away from their hiding place and the gate, into the twirling alleys of the lower town.

"_There! Catch him!"_ the guards shouted and soon they too disappeared into the darkness in hot pursuit.

Not wasting another second, Leon and Elian grabbed a struggling Arthur roughly by the shoulders and started running towards the gate. The King tried to fight them weakly, still numb from Percival's actions. The other two men did not relent and kept dragging him until they got through the Gate.

Once outside the city walls, they found Alator and the other two waiting for them on the brim of the main road. Arthur, though still in shock, didn't fail to notice how the sorcerer's eyes were shimmering in the darkness. He was casting a _spell_.

"Percival?" Gwaine asked as soon as he saw them. Leon shook his head, clearly upset but did not stop.

"We have no time! Run, or else Percival would have sacrificed himself for nothing!" he all but shouted to the others. They all moved as one then, Alator at the front, leading the way in the darkness and the others following behind. The sorcerer was avoiding rocks and pits like it was broad daylight.

_A spell no doubt._

Arthur's feet moved on their own accord, as he tried to comply with the demanding pace the others had set. But his mind was stuck to that one image of his knight, his _friend_, running away from them in order to protect them. Towards his ultimate doom.

_And all that because of me._

* * *

A/N: So there you have it! While Arthur and the others struggle to survive, Merlin is experiencing his first sings of '_trouble in paradise'_…

We got to see George's p.o.v. :P And the healing spell was from S03E05.

I hope you liked it! Please leave a review and tell me what you thought of the chapter!


	10. Chapter 9: To know, finally

**A/N:** First, I would like to ask you one thing. Please do not rush to conclusions based only on what you read in one chapter. There have been and will be many twists and turns in the story.

I don't believe I give the impression that I take the easy way out. I think that my choices so far have proven the complete opposite. So, just to get this straight: This isn't going to have a fairytale ending, I'm aiming for something closer to reality (emotionally speaking of course, this is fantasy genre) and not sunny, sparkly Hollywood.

You should also know that I will remove the _not a death fic_ warning from the story's description. Originally I had put it there to assure the people who first read the fic that Arthur wouldn't be executed, but now that that has come to pass, I think it's unnecessary, if not restricting. I assure you that since the story is canon, Arthur and Merlin will survive in the end, but, like they do in the show, some of the other characters may not be that lucky.

I'm looking forward to seeing what you all think of Lucan after this chapter.

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 9: To know, finally**

Lucan watched alarmed as Merlin stormed off to the horses. He made a step forward, but Declan intercepted him, grabbing him by the arm.

"No. He's not very stable right now, Sire. Let me go. I'll talk to him..." he said in a hurry.

Lucan hesitated for a moment, but then stood back, letting the Druid rush after the angry warlock.

_You knew he would have to find out eventually... What are you so afraid of?_

Rejection. That was what he feared the most. Rejection and hatred.

He felt silly just at the thought of it. Merlin wasn't like that. But still, in his mind, he felt that it was too soon, he would be too exposed if he told the warlock everything. True, he knew so much about Merlin, what he'd done, even his true character up to a point, but Merlin didn't know almost a thing about _him_. He'd wished for Merlin to have grown closer to him, to have known him, even consider him a friend before he confessed the complete truth of his deeds.

_You are such a hypocrite. If there is one person who can relate to the burden of secrets, it's Merlin._

He looked up ahead, where Merlin and Declan seemed to be having an argument. The rest of the Ostian party stood by, scattered near the lake, not really knowing what to do.

Declan continued to talk to the warlock for some time. Finally, he placed a tired hand upon Merlin's shoulder, a gesture the other man seemed not overly happy about, and turned to walk back to the Prince, a troubled look on his face.

Lucan's eyes were stuck behind the Druid, where Merlin was mounting his horse.

No. This couldn't be happening. He wasn't supposed to leave.

No.

Declan reached him and as usual, he picked up what the Prince was thinking.

"He isn't leaving, Lucan," he told him gently. The Prince let out the breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

Declan was looking at him with a strange expression. "He came very close though. It took a lot to convince him otherwise. You should understand this, Sire. He is in a very fragile state right now. Both his emotions and, by extension, his magic can become very easily disturbed. In the end, I had to promise him you were going to come clean."

Lucan closed his eyes, nodding in response. "I know..." he mumbled. "I should have seen it really. He put so much faith in me, gave up _everything_. How foolish of me to believe I should keep this from him..." he said, watching the warlock from afar as he soothed his horse.

Both he and Declan knew that the real reason the Prince had been stalling was that he wasn't sure of the way Merlin would react to it all.

"I'll talk to him..." the Prince said, gathering up his strength.

The Druid gave him a small encouraging smile.

"That's great, Sire. Just... give him some time to cool off first..."he said, almost wincing at the thought of an angry Merlin.

Lucan relaxed a little and nodded, seeing the other man's point.

"Tonight, then. When we'll make camp..." he agreed.

"He'll understand, Lucan. I know he will," Declan told him, before he went to start packing.

Lucan turned to his first knight, Sir Gilbert, who was standing close by and ordered him to get the men to their horses. They should be getting going if they wanted to reach Ostia around this time the following day.

The rest of their ride had been painfully long. The silence that the previous days had been if not comfortable then understanding, was replaced by a thick tension that moved in the air around them. Merlin had moved to the back of the group instead of riding beside the Prince and Declan as he had done previously.

At night fall, they settled in a small clearing at the edge of the forest. They had just crossed the Ostian borders and it would take less than a day's ride for them to arrive at the Capital.

Lucan felt calmer knowing he was back home in the safety of his father's Kingdom. He didn't really believe that Arthur Pendragon would send his knights to pursue them, but one could never be sure. He knew that Camelot was too weak to risk open attack towards Ostia. Crossing their borders without permission, hunting down the Prince, would certainly count as an act of war.

Merlin had sat down as far away as possible from the rest of the group. No one had dared approach him but Declan, who had brought the warlock a hot bowl of stew. It was going to be a cold night, Lucan could tell. Thankfully the warlock had built a fire, and by the looks of it, a strong one too.

He grabbed a blanket from his bedroll and moved to join Merlin in his secluded spot.

"Not so fast!" he heard Declan call at him. He paused and turned to see the druid coming towards him, a flagon of mead and two cups in his hands.

"Everything gets easier after a couple of drinks..." he told the Prince, lifting his eyebrow suggestively.

Lucan gave him a half-hearted laugh and took the offerings.

"I suppose I shouldn't ask where you've got these from, and just be grateful for giving them to me..." he joked easily with his friend. It was the calm before the storm, Lucan feared.

The Druid gave him a light shove, urging him to move on.

He walked until he was standing near the fire. Merlin was sitting on a log, a blanket on his shoulders to prevent the chilly weather from getting to him. The warlock pretended not to notice when Lucan sat down on the log with him. His gaze was fixed on the flames in front of him. His face betrayed nothing to the prince.

Lucan filled the two cups and offered one to Merlin. The gesture forced the warlock to finally acknowledge him. He stared at the drink blankly and then took it, before he returned to his previous stance.

"Merlin," Lucan began. "I am sorry about before. I understand you feel betrayed by..."

"You're sorry?" Merlin interrupted, irritated. "You are _sorry_! Do you have any idea what you have done? You just stormed into my life, unraveled every single secret I've ever had, forced me to make the most difficult decision I have ever had to make -all because of what you said- and then you go and hide things from me! Things that have everything to do with me! Who do you think you are, Prince Lucan? What gives you the right to know all there is about me, and yet deny me a simple _explanation_?" he finished, breathing heavily.

Lucan was sure Merlin's outburst had been heard by all of his men, but thankfully, none reacted whatsoever. The Prince had expected this. Merlin was hurt. He could understand why. The warlock had chosen to believe him and abandon his 'destiny', his whole life back in Camelot. For Lucan not to reciprocate that trust, to still keep secrets, was, in Merlin's logic, unjustifiable.

Lucan drunk from his cup, thinking where to begin his story from. Merlin let an exasperated huff and moved to get up from where he was seating.

"When I was young…" Lucan began, his voice barely a whisper, "I was never close with other noble children of my age. I was smaller than them, got sick easily. My mother used to keep me inside the palace all day. I would spend most of my time with her in her chambers, or studying with my tutors. I loved reading. From historical chronicles, to tales about mystical lands and magical creatures, you name it, I've probably read it. My mother used to read to me when, sometimes, I would be too weak to even get out of my bed," he paused, noting how the warlock had returned to his place, and was clearly paying attention to the story.

"She died when I was ten years old. It was a high fever during a sudden illness. I still can't explain it, maybe it was the Gods' way to balance her untimely death, but after losing my mother, my health started improving drastically."

He could remember it still, that day, when his father had entered his chambers, his eyes full of tears and his arms open to envelop him.

"My father… her death almost destroyed him. But he managed to hold on. He dedicated his life to his people and to make me a man she would have been proud of."

_The best king and the best father. I owe so much to him…_

He regarded Merlin's expression. The warlock's eyes had softened a bit, and a frown marred his forehead. He looked perplexed.

"You're probably wondering what that's got to do with you. Well… Some of the books my mother liked to read to me were about magic. Not _magic books_, they didn't contain any spells, but stories. Legends. It was by her mouth, her lovely voice, that I first heard the name Emrys."

Something sparkled in Merlin's eyes, hearing that.

_Perhaps it was just the fire…_

"I was enthralled by the stories about Emrys," he paused, letting a small laugh escape his lips. "You could say I was _enchanted_ by him… I used to spend hours every week lost inside huge tomes full of poems, texts and prophecies about the greatest sorcerer to ever live and the many things he would accomplish. And, of course, there was the Once and Future King as well."

At that, Merlin froze. Lucan could feel his gaze falling heavy him. He took another gulp from his mead and continued.

"I had this tutor who was a sorcerer. He had managed to escape Camelot and found employment at my father's household. He was a very learned man. Very kind too. He taught me history, though I had asked him to teach me some magic as well, but he'd only laughed after hearing that. He used to tell me that, when I grew up, if I managed to remain as kind and just as I was back then, the great Emrys would ultimately come and choose me to go with him as the Once and Future King."

He didn't turn to see Merlin. Because that man, younger than him by years, _was_ Emrys. And the small child inside Lucan trembled at the thought of how the warlock would look at him. What he would say.

"I used to stay up at night imagining how it would be like. The battles, the monsters we would fight. The _fair maidens_ we would rescue. Together, Emrys and I, have united Albion countless times, all in my head, of course… We've brought magic back to the land, stopped the suffering and the endless wars… It's funny actually, now that I remember. I always imagined Emrys as this wise and powerful man, about my father's age. With a long beard, and a pointy _hat_," he smiled, the memories of his childhood games, the innocence of youth. The hope he had back then.

"Even when I grew up and started running the Kingdom by my father's side, I never really forgot about Emrys. And then… years after… the signs started to appear. They first came with bards and travelers, people that told stories of the young Prince Arthur of Camelot and his astonishing feats in defeating numerous monsters the world hadn't seen in years, sorcerers that kept rising one after the other. Armies of the dead…" he trailed off.

"It was the Druids that confirmed it. They'd come to us, their close allies, and entrusted us with the secret that the time was coming. That Emrys had arrived."

He said that last part looking directly at the warlock for the first time after many minutes. Merlin's face wasn't giving away much. He seemed to be closely concentrating on what he was hearing, staring in front of him at nothing in particular with the cup still held tight between his palms.

"I had met Arthur once before, you know." Lucan continued. "Perhaps he's already told you about it. I doubt he'd thought much of me back then, seeing I was never very good with the sword. Not like him, anyway. It was an official visit to Camelot with my father… The impression I was left with back then, even with him being at a young age… let's just say it wasn't the best. You can probably imagine how spoilt he was…"

Lucan glanced over, to see Merlin's lips quirk a little after hearing the comment about his former master. Almost immediately though, the warlock's expression darkened.

Lucan sighed. He needed to finish with the story. There were some things, the most important things, that he still had to confess to Merlin.

"When I realized what the Druids were suggesting, that Emrys had chosen Camelot and Arthur to fulfill the prophecies… I can't begin to describe how surprised, disappointed and, well… _bitter_ I felt. What was the point in trying so hard to be good, to be your_ best_ around everyone, if, in the end, the title of the noblest man of all, the prophesized King of Legend, was to go to a man like Arthur Pendragon… ? Still, it had been years since I had last seen him, so I decided to keep my opinion to myself, and waited to see what would eventually come to pass."

He took a deep breath before he continued. "When Uther died, some of the people in Ostia, refugees from the Great Purge, celebrated his death. And all who knew, waited impatiently for the news to come. For the day when Camelot would stop the persecution of magic to finally arrive," he said, his voice low again, almost a whisper. He sensed Merlin tense beside him.

"After the first months had passed and nothing of the sort came, I tried to convince myself that Arthur was just easing things in the Kingdom, bringing back magic _gradually_, so that the people would have time to adjust. Then a year passed and news came of Morgana's second reign and how the noble King Arthur drew this supposedly legendary sword from a stone and defeated the evil Queen, proving that the forces of good would always triumph over the evil that is magic… It was then when I started to worry, really worry that something was wrong. That perhaps, something was stopping Emrys from achieving his destiny. That something had happened to him."

He remembered growing restless, feeling a constant anxiety that kept him awake at night.

"It was around the second year of Arthur's reign that I decided I had waited enough. Nothing had changed concerning magic, and even the druid leaders at their settlement had began to grow restless. Frustrated. After a lot of research, I managed to find a way."

_Here we are now. This is where he'll get mad._

He recited the description he had found in the book. He could see it clearly in his mind, as if it was there in front of him.

"_For the brave of heart, and the pure, to sacrifice, and the Old Religion to grant_… It took me some time to prepare for the ritual, both mentally and physically, and even more time to convince the Druids to perform it. And then… we did it. The original ritual was basically a way for two individual minds to connect and share their experiences. However, the Elders found a way to change it, so that it would only reveal the life of one man, of Emrys, to a person of pure and noble intent, willing to risk his life and soul for that sole purpose... I-I remember it all like it was yesterday… The memories. _Your_ memories."

He couldn't speak any longer, feeling overwhelmed. He waited for Merlin to explode.

"What was the sacrifice?" he was surprised to hear the other man ask in a small voice. Turning his eyes slowly, he saw Merlin watching him, a fierce look on his face. If he had to describe it, he would say it was a mix of disbelief, anger and fear.

Not very good. Though he hadn't attacked yet, something which Lucan counted as a plus.

He swallowed hard and answered him.

"It was a blood sacrifice. Something about my _purity of spirit_ being offered as proof through my living essence… The more I gave, the more I saw. I couldn't though- I didn't go that far. Last thing I remember seeing was a cave full of crystals. The pain you felt then… I just couldn't continue any longer. I blacked out. I think Declan was the one who got in the way and broke the spell..."

He turned to Merlin, only to see him nodding his head slowly, as if he understood, but at the same time was processing a million other information.

"My first thought when I came to was that I needed to do something. That I _had_ to find you, to save you. I think I've already explained my reasoning to you very clearly. I can't really describe exactly how I expected Emrys to be like, but I certainly didn't expect him to be someone like you. A young man, lost and carrying an unnecessarily heavy burden upon his shoulders…"

Lucan didn't have anything else to say. He had finally gotten to the end and he found he was feeling already lighter at the thought that, now, his life lay bare in front of Merlin. And, once more, it was the warlock's turn to make the decision.

"And that's it. That is the whole story. How I know all this. Why I came…" he told him, slightly raising his voice giving it an air of finality. "As to why I didn't tell you… I think you can understand. I did something I now recognize as, well, as _unforgivable_… I got inside your head without having any kind of permission whatsoever… I crossed a line invading your privacy like that… And I was too ashamed to admit it. Too afraid of how you would react."

_I was scared that you'd hate me for it. And I still don't know if I could bear it._

"But I need you to know this, Merlin, before you pass your final judgment. Before you decide to… _leave_. I was getting desperate. We all were. And desperate times call for desperate measures."

He finished for good this time. He placed his cup on the ground and let his gaze drift to the fire.

He prepared himself for the worst. And, for a brief moment, he wondered if this was how Arthur Pendragon would have felt when Merlin left him, if he hadn't been so utterly blinded by the hatred of magic his fathered had infused upon him.

A few minutes passed in silence. Lucan did not dare to look at the other man.

"You know…" he heard Merlin speak suddenly, his voice strangely calm. "When I used to think about how it would be like for me to tell Arthur about my magic, I imagined something very similar to this. Each time, of course, with different outcomes. With Arthur, you could never be sure of how he would react to the really _important_ things. Like lies, loyalty, friendship and _trust_. And now… How ironic it is to find myself in the reverse position. To have to be the one to make the decision to either forgive or condemn a man that, in this case, I hardly even know."

Lucan found the courage to turn and look at him. Merlin was facing him, his eyes piercing right through the prince's soul.

"I have been where you are now, Lucan. I have felt that way for many years. Always afraid. Always carrying the burden of guilt… You want to hear my decision? I _forgive_ _you_ for doing what you did. Because I know how it is to be so desperate, to crave for a change… And because your actions, however questionable they might have been in their nature, ultimately managed to get me out of the standstill my life had come to."

Lucan's mind had stopped at the one word the warlock had so easily offered him.

_Forgive._

He was forgiven. Merlin would stay.

"I don't know if you are the Once and Future King. I find that I don't really care about it right now. The only thing I want to do is move on. Forget the past. Live _my _life for a change… And you said that I can do it here, in Ostia. So I choose to believe you."

* * *

George had barely managed to sleep at all. He had gone to bed late, after finding out that the warning bells had sounded because someone had tried to escape. He hadn't been able to learn who exactly. A prisoner, or perhaps the King? Then he heard that they had brought in a prisoner. A knight, though none of the servants had managed to learn who. After giving it some thought, George decided he had to risk a venture down the dungeons to see for himself. That was why he had gotten out of his bed and got dressed for his duties hours before his usual time.

He had gone straight to the kitchens and, rummaging through the cupboards and the benches, he managed to gather some old bread, a few jugs of water and cups for the imprisoned knights.

As soon as he reached the entrance to the dungeons, though, he was faced with his first challenge.

"Hey, you! Where do you think you're going?" one of the guards there spat at him. The man was one of the five mercenaries posted there. George had at first thought five men were too few to guard half the knights of Camelot, but then his eyes fell to the creature that was standing perfectly still beside the far wall. He gulped, trying to suppress a panic attack.

_The giant statue-guard probably does the trick._

George's knees trembled as he blurted the excuse he had come up with earlier to the man before him.

"I'm bringing food and water for the prisoners," he managed to say without stuttering.

The guard gave him a very disbelieving look. "At this hour?"

"Well, yes. I am supposed to care for the prisoners, they are no good to the Queen dead, are they? But I also have many other important duties. Most of them have to be finished before the court wakes..." he said, feeling proud of himself. That was a perfectly reasonable explanation indeed.

At that point, he heard a distant scream coming from the dark hallway that lead to the dungeon. The mercenary smirked seeing George's widened eyes.

"Well, then... Go ahead," he said, giving the servant a mocking bow of the head, while the other mercenaries behind him sniggered.

And George went.

* * *

"For the last time, _Sir_ Percival..." Morgana hissed as she tightened her grip on the whip.

" Where..." she struck at the man's bare back, "are they..." the whip descended once more, making the prisoner groan as it connected with his open wounds, "...headed?"

She gave him one final whiplash and revelled as the knight convulsed and screamed in sheer agony before her eyes. She muttered another spell, intensifying the pain. She was certain he would crack soon. No man could stand such treatment for so long, from late night to these early hours of the morning, let alone when _magic_ was used upon him.

Behind her, the door to the cell opened and she heard someone clear his throat awkwardly.

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," he said. She recognized the voice. That pathetic excuse of a sorcerer, Trickler.

"What do you want?" she demanded, turning around and seeing him cowering at the door.

"King Alined sent me, my Queen. He asks if you are in need of any assistance..."

Morgana's already angered mind saw red hearing that.

"Tell your _King_ he should think twice before he mocks me!" she shrilled, lifting the hand that hold the whip menacingly.

"Please, your Grace! He didn't by any means imply such a thing! He wanted me to give you a gift..." the sorcerer hurried to say, bringing his hands forward. He was holding a sword out for her.

"Another sword? I have little use of these petty weapons..." Morgana dismissed.

"You misunderstand me, my Queen. This is Kin- _Arthur Pendragon's_ sword. I took it myself the night we captured him. My master thought it would help break your prisoner's morale, to have him... treated in such a way by his King's own steel..."

She paused for a moment, looking at the man appraisingly. She could feel the bound Knight behind her tense.

_Hmm... This might not be a bad idea after all. _

"Very well. I accept your King's gift. Leave it and go," she said, the finality of her words urging the other sorcerer to spring into action. She returned to the captured man, who was hanging in the middle of the room, still glaring at her defiantly.

She smirked as she heard the door close behind her.

"Let us see how you'll like it then, getting marked by you precious King Arthur's sword..." she said, walking to the wooden table at the side, were she kept her -many- tools. Trickler had placed the sword on the edge. It was a beautiful weapon, nothing like those she remembered Arthur carried when he was a prince.

She grabbed the hilt and before she managed to lift it, a wave of weakness hit her, making her lean to the table's wooden surface for support. A feeling of '_wrong wrong wrong'_ enveloped her completely and she dropped the weapon as if it had burned right through her skin.

"What kind of magic is this?" she whispered faintly, trying to steady herself.

She regarded the fallen sword with disdain.

_This has Emrys written all over it..._

Merlin, again. Would she never get rid of that pest? She had been wrong not to continue pursuing him when she had found out that he was Emrys. She thought he was gone for good, abandoned Camelot forever, but then he returned to save Arthur! His _precious_ Arthur... And he was ever the coward, not showing his face even then.

_And now he mocks me with this sword too?_

She was done being nice. Now, she would show them all who was truly in control.

She walked to the knight, her steps faltering from both the shock and the rage that was storming inside her. Sir Percival's eyes were glued upon the sword, his face almost triumphant at the sight of her momentary defeat.

She grabbed him by the neck and clinched her fingers hard, stopping his breath almost completely.

"I will give you one last chance to tell me where Arthur is headed. Do you know what I'll do if you don't answer me? I will stop this...torture. Instead, I'll bring the lovely Guinevere down here to keep you company..." she trailed off, her eyes cold as ice and she saw the exact moment when Percival realized where this was heading.

_Good_.

"And I'll _make you watch_ as I do to her exactly what I've been doing to you for the last hours. And this time I won't stop until she's begging for me to let her die..." she finished, glaring at the man in a way that said just how serious her threat truly was.

She let her grip on his neck easy out a little, and the tortured knight took a hungry breath.

She waited for a moment. When he didn't speak, she turned to the door.

"Guar-" she began to say, fully intending to make good of her threat.

"Wait!" Percival gasped in a hoarse voice. She could see the conflict written on his pained expression.

"Wait. I'll tell you..." he muttered in the end.

Morgana didn't move, waiting for him to continue.

"They're going to a village north west from here. Longsaddle," he said, sounding defeated.

"Why would they go there?" Morgana questioned, doubting his words. What kind of plan did Merlin have this time...?

"Elyan knows some of the men there. They are seeking refuge..." he responded.

"And what about Merlin? Is he going with them?" she inquired paying close attention to the other man's face. If that scum dared lie to her...

His gaze hardened. "The sorcerer is going with them," he replied simply.

That was all Morgana needed to know. She spared one final glance at the man before her, his broken body and his bowed head. Her eyes glowed gold and the chains holding the man hanging tightened, making him groan with pain.

Morgana remembered the sword. The offending item was still lying on the floor where she had dropped it. She shuddered at the thought of touching it again.

_I'll have Brog retrieve it. Perhaps I'll have it melt and use the metal to make a pin or a necklace..._

Smiling in satisfaction, she turned to leave the torture room.

She was done in there.

* * *

George lowered his gaze, trying to become as inconspicuous as possible, when he spotted Trickler coming towards him from the other side of the corridor. He and the rest of the staff had been shocked when, after Morgana's invasion, the slimy man had started proclaiming himself king Alined's _sorcerer_ and had began ordering everyone around like he owned the place.

The servant didn't miss the fact that the room Trickler had just left was the only one with a wooden door, not an iron barred one. The sorcerer moved passed him without sparing him a single look. The guard at the end of the corridor gave George a bored glance, not really caring about his presence. He went to the first cell and started handing the Knights the scraps of bread and the sparse water jugs. He was near the other end of the corridor, very close to the wooden door, when the fight broke.

One of the knights had managed to grab a passing guard and hold him up against the bars of his cell door, threatening to snap the man's neck if the other guard didn't hand the keys. Before George knew it, guards were running everywhere and the prisoners' loud shouts were echoing in the corridor.

At that exact time, the wooden door opened and _Morgana_ stepped out. Her eyes immediately fell on the ongoing commotion and she stormed towards the gathered men.

Leaving the door behind her conveniently unlocked.

He hurried to get inside and close the door behind him. When he turned around, he realized what the purpose of this room really was. Torture.

"Sir Percival!" he exclaimed, rushing to the large man's side. The knight was in a terrible state, blood oozing out of his many wounds, hands bound tightly over his shoulders, his head dropped as if unconscious. As soon as he heard the servant's voice, the man moved, slowly lifting his head.

"_Help_..." he said, and George wasted no more time. He run to him and started pulling at the chains.

"She's enchanted them. There's no point anyway..." he told him bitterly. The servant understood his meaning. Even if he could break free, the knight was in no state to walk, let alone fight his way out...

"Over there, on the floor... the sword..." he gestured with a move of his head.

George looked to where the knight had pointed. There on the floor by the small table lay the King's sword. George would have been able to recognize it anywhere.

He had _dreams_ about polishing that sword for goodness sake.

Reluctantly, George left Sir Percival's side and picked up the disregarded weapon. The moment he touched it, he shivered, utterly mesmerized by the otherworldly feel of it.

"She wanted to know where they went..." the knight's voice reminded him of their current situation. The tortured man's eyes scrunched as he tried to move to another position. He breathed heavily for a moment, before he continued. "I misled her... Tried to buy us some time."

George could only nod, not understanding where this was going. What the knight wanted from him.

"That sword... It _affects_ her somehow. You... you must take it to the King. It is the only way he'll ever stand a chance..."

_Oh_...

The knight spoke again passionately.

"_Please_, George... If not Arthur, at least give it to someone who stands a fighting chance against her..."

It took only a moment for George to decide. He had promised the Queen to help, after all.

"Wh-where will I find him?" he asked, keeping his voice down. His heart beat like mad.

Relief washed through the knight's features.

"In Herdsdale..." he said, he too whispering. "It's half a day's ride northeast..."

George nodded. He knew of the small village.

"You must hurry..." Percival said urgently. George looked around, his senses on high alert.

_How do you pass a sword under all those guards' noses?_

_Aha!_

He walked to the table. There was a collection of weapons, from simple daggers and swords to long winding needles and twisted pincers. They all lay scattered upon a large piece of leather. In a moment of pure inspiration, he took one of the swords and placed it on the floor, where he had found the King's weapon. He then put the authentic one with the others and rolled them all together in a big bundle.

Just in time too, because the next moment, the captain of the mercenaries walked inside the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" he said menacingly.

It was George's surprisingly good improvisation skills that saved him once again.

"Her Majesty said I should take care of these. Cleaning, sharpening..." he gulped, seeing the huge man walking slowly towards him, his hand reaching for his weapon.

When he reached him, the mercenary lowered his head until his eyes were on the same level with George's. His hard glare dropped to the floor.

As soon as he saw the sword, he relaxed.

"Alright. You got them, now get the hell out..."

George didn't need to hear more. He practically _ran_ all the way out of the dungeons.

* * *

They travelled almost all night long, making only a few necessary breaks for Arthur. After sunrise, they were already out of the forest and closing in on the village. It was around mid day when they saw the first houses from a distance.

Arthur had spent the entire journey almost unable to form a logical thought. His body was tired and hurt, his mind... he didn't even know how he should feel. All he wanted to do was _stop_.

But as they were approaching their destination, Arthur started to think clearly. Soon, they would meet Gaius. And he would have to explain to him why, this time, there was no Merlin trailing clumsily behind them.

_What am I even supposed to say? Sorry, Gaius. He just decided to leave because apparently I'm not good enough._

His head hurt. A few days ago, that thought would have come to him dripping with sarcasm. Now it was a fact. And Arthur feared it was a justifiable one at that.

As much as he feared Gaius' reaction to the news of Merlin's departure, he couldn't deny that he was kind of anticipating their conversation. Deep inside him, he craved to speak with someone about magic and actually hear the complete truth for once.

How many times had he been misled, or lied to, concerning matters of sorcery? From Merlin, to Gaius, to even his _father_, Arthur had recounted all the things he had ever discussed with them on that subject. And now that his eyes had finally opened, he could recognize the lies, often so thin he should have been able to see right through them.

What scared him the most though, was that if he had been wrong to think that all sorcerers were evil, and he now was almost completely certain that that had been the case, then why had his father hunted them so ferociously? What had driven him to behave so illogically?

Of course his mind had immediately gone to his first memories of Morgause and, by extension, to his mother. It had been Merlin who had told him the sorceress was trying to deceive him, and he had believed him. Looking back at that precise moment, he didn't want to think Merlin would have lied about something as significant as that. And if Uther had died that day for what he had done to Igraine and to all the magic users, wouldn't Merlin's life have been made easier? But then again, if Merlin hadn't stopped him, Arthur would have had committed patricide and he would have done it with a clouded mind, full of pain and betrayal. And he knew now, he would have regretted it almost immediately. More than that. It would have destroyed him.

If what he now suspected was right, then he would just have to add that incident to his 'sacrifices Merlin made for destiny' list. A list that kept growing the more he allowed himself to remember their time together.

They entered the small village in broad daylight and truly they were quite the spectacle. Six men, amongst which one was the King, three were knights and two were just highly suspicious-looking foreigners. It didn't take long for the villagers to gather around them.

Arthur assumed, as the King he should say something, ask them of Gaius' whereabouts. He didn't need to in the end.

The people parted to let way for the old physician to pass. Gaius was walking fast, a look of worry written on his features. He was taking in the rest of the party while making his way towards Arthur, when he stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes suddenly wide with fear. Arthur followed his gaze to see Alator and the other man, he should really ask for a name at some point, who were standing by at the sidelines. Judging by Alator's slight wince, it wasn't the first time those two had seen each other.

Gaius's concern managed to overcome his unease due to the sorcerer's presence. Reluctantly, he stepped closer, his eyes turning to Arthur. He could see the physician's fear, his apprehension towards what he was about to learn. Gaius spoke first.

"Sire... What happened? We've heard rumours about Camelot..." he asked.

"Camelot has fallen. Morgana is once again Queen," Arthur responded. It was the first time he had admitted it out loud. It hurt less than he had thought it would.

_Must be the force of habit_...

Though the people around them started whispering, Gaius didn't seem to be very surprised by the news. He just sagged his shoulders and let out a sigh. But the old man's eyes soon where back on the group.

Arthur knew what question would follow next. He had tried to prepare for it, though he wasn't very sure he'd succeeded.

"Where is Merlin?" Gaius asked, his gaze flickering from Arthur to the others, even Alator, obviously registering everyone's reactions. He wanted to be sure Arthur wouldn't lie to him.

The thought made Arthur angry. Gaius had no right to think of him as a liar. He was never one for keeping secrets, all those around him were. Gaius included.

Surprisingly, it was Alator that answered him.

"Emrys had left Camelot before any of it even started..."

* * *

A/N: So, how about that? :)


	11. Chapter 10: The black and the white

I know that this has been the longest gap between my updates, but I assure you I have a good excuse! I was on holidays, far away from my laptop or the internet for that matter! I'm sure you can all understand…

And to make up for it, here is a nice, long chapter… :D

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 10 : The black and the white, the darkness and the light**

Gaius' head was spinning.

_Emrys had left Camelot… _

_Emrys…_

For a moment, he couldn't realize what Alator had actually said. Then it hit him. Alator had just referred to Merlin as Emrys in front of both Arthur and his knights. And they hadn't reacted at that at all.

Alator said that he was _gone_. That he had left…

_It can't be_…

The old physician felt almost sick, as countless dark thoughts and fears filled his mind and the dread he had been feeling since he first heard of Morgana's attack, overcame him once again, this time stronger than ever before.

Merlin was gone… Merlin would never leave on his own… He just wouldn't. But if Arthur knew he was Emrys, if he knew he was a sorcerer… If he had somehow found out… Did he- could it be that the King had _banish_ him?

Gaius felt cold sweat drip down his forehead. It was the only logical explanation. How else would Merlin give up his place by Arthur's side?

But… how did it happen?

And, more than that, what on earth was Arthur doing in the company of Alator, another sorcerer? Did he even know who he was traveling with?

The bewilderment and fear that Gaius was feeling must have been written plainly across his face, because not a minute passed before the Catha addressed him again, and this time his voice was full of understanding, perhaps even pity. If the physician hadn't been sick with worry he would have laughed at the irony that, in a group full of his friends and allies it was the man that had kidnapped and tortured him that was showing his concern for him.

"I'm sorry, Gaius," the sorcerer said, his accent even heavier as he spoke in a lower tone. "This must be… hard for you."

_No_, Gaius thought, shaking his head in denial. No. Arthur wouldn't, he _couldn't_ be that stupid. That harsh. That unforgiving. He wasn't Uther.

Arthur was fair and just. He was Merlin's friend. His best friend. He wouldn't throw away almost a decade of friendship for the sake of one lie, one secret. One _logically guarded_ _secret!_

The old man turned his head, finally daring to look at the King. He wasn't sure what he was expecting, he was hoping to see Arthur denying what Alator had said, or even grinning and saying Merlin was just behind them and all this was a -bad- joke, but what he saw in the King's eyes made Gaius' chest ache, his eyes scrunch and his mind reel.

Guilt and _anger_. That was what was written across Arthur Pendragon's features. His eyes could barely reach Gaius' own, his stance was tensed, as if waiting for the blow to come. But it was the rigidness of his shoulders, the stiffness of his jaw and the vein on his neck that bulged, that betrayed the boiling rage the King must have been feeling. All this emotions were emanating from the young King's entire being and it was scaring the old physician more than anything ever before.

_Oh, Arthur… what have you done? _

He couldn't help but feel disappointed, even if it was for one second. He couldn't spare more anyway.

Gaius had really thought better of Arthur. These past years, with a great deal of help from Merlin's part, Arthur had changed immensely, and it had been for the better. He was less impulsive, tried to think things through as much as he could before making a decision, and he actually listened when others advised him. All this had made Gaius hope that even if he learned Merlin's secret before he was ready, Arthur would have the maturity of mind not to rush to any actions, but to investigate the matter from all aspects. And Gaius believed that even if Arthur's mind wouldn't change in regards to sorcery in a fortnight, at least he would find it in his heart to forgive and trust Merlin. And that slowly, after much hardship and hopefully less anguish, they would manage to salvage their friendship.

But then again, it wouldn't be the first time Gaius would've been wrong to put his faith in someone. Old age didn't make him any wiser at that aspect.

"You know then… About Merlin's-" he choked, his eyes never leaving Arthur.

"If you mean that I know about Merlin being in fact a sorcerer, hiding in Camelot and practicing magic all this time, then _yes_…" the King replied, lifting his head and fixing his eyes on the old man. His tone was bitter, if not a little accusing as well. And the way he moved when he spoke, it made him look and sound far older than his years.

But Gaius' thoughts didn't linger on Arthur for long, because soon, it was the image of Merlin that filled the old man's head, and the old man tried not to tear up as thoughts of his ward's guileless smile and the brightness of his eyes overwhelmed him. He could only remember how proud he had felt each time he regarded Merlin, the young man that had become as dear to him as only a son ever could be.

And Gaius couldn't control the feelings of anger that enveloped him, as the injustice of it all hit him. He didn't want to remember all the things Merlin had had to put up with through the years, the tears the boy had shed, the dreams he had given up, the innocence he had been forced to abandon. And all those times, Gaius had to hold his hand and remind him that one day everything would change, and it would change for the better. That one day Arthur would recognize Merlin, thank him even for everything he had done.

How completely unfair this had been for his poor ward…

"How did you find…" he managed to mutter in the end. He had closed his eyes, trying to gather his thoughts as best he could and find strength to continue. He would reason with Arthur, he knew he could. He knew he _must_. He owed it to Merlin, and did not intent to let him down. He opened his eyes and looked at the King, who was regarding him hard, and spoke, determined to solve this.

"Whatever it is you think Merlin has done, Sire," he began, his voice trembling with intensity, "you must understand this… Merlin has _always_ _been_ your most loyal servant. He would gladly die for you a hundred times over. He didn't want to lie to you, Arthur. He did it because he didn't have any other choice…"

Gaius saw Arthur's rigid form faltering, a small frown appearing on his face.

_Perhaps he already regrets his actions_…

Gaius continued with urgency, choosing not to give the King a chance to reply.

"To send him away… Punish him, like that. Arthur, _how could you_? If only you knew how many times Merlin has saved your life… saved all of us! You made a grave mistake in banishing him, Sire. You must believe me," he finished, almost pleadingly.

The people around them had gone silent, as all eyes fell to the King's still form, awaiting his reactions perhaps just as anxiously as Gaius was. But Arthur didn't answer right away. Instead he looked confused, his frown deeper.

As Gaius stood there waiting for the King to say something, he let his gaze wonder to the rest of the party, and finally noticed how all of them were avoiding looking straight at him.

"You think… you think that _I sent him away?_" The king's voice cut through the uneasy silence. It sounded monotonous, lifeless, and made the old physician feel a shiver traveling up his spine.

Arthur looked at him even more intensely, his eyes now burning with rage but it was in Gaius' nature not to be easily phased by the glare of a Pendragon.

"You think I _wanted_ him gone?" Arthur added, more forcefully, through his teeth.

That came as a surprise to the older man. Was Arthur implying that things hadn't happened as he had first feared? That he hadn't sent Merlin away?

Then what _had_ happened…? Could he had rushed into the wrong conclusions? He couldn't bear it any longer. The confusion. The worry. He was too old for this.

Arthur clenched his fists tightly.

"Merlin chose to leave, Gaius. _He_ left _us_," he deadpanned.

_Impossible_.

There had been many times in the old physician's life when he had felt as if the world around him had gone mad, and nothing made sense any more. The Great Purge was the most characteristic example. And yet, no other sentence he had heard in his many years on this earth had sounded stranger, more foreign, than the insinuation that Merlin had left Camelot -Arthur-on his own.

He looked at the others for explanations, for help. But what he got was only a straining silence.

His mouth ran dry, but he had to be sure he hadn't misunderstood.

"What are you saying, Sire? M-Merlin would _never_…"

Arthur's outburst was almost predictable. "Oh, but _he did_, Gaius!" the King all but shouted. The old physician cowered as Arthur took a long stride towards him and lifted his hand pointing at him. "_Merlin_ was the one who…"

Gwaine grabbed Arthur by the shoulders, effectively stopping him.

"Arthur, enough," he said lowly. Strangely that seemed to work with the King as he deflated almost instantly, shook himself off of Gwaine's grasp and took a step back, looking almost contrite. The knight gave Arthur a concerned look and then turned to Gaius apologetically.

"It would be better if we continued this conversation somewhere more private… don't you think, Gaius?" he said, gesturing to all the gathered people.

The physician nodded. Of course with all this new, disturbing information he hadn't even given a second thought about privacy and secrecy. It just hadn't seem important enough…

"My friend's hut is over there…" he pointed with a small, tired wave of his hand.

"We will not be disturbed…"

* * *

Arthur was crouching by the small hearth inside the wooden hut where Gaius had brought them in almost an hour ago. He was pretending to be tending to the fire, when in fact he was just avoiding being part of the conversation that was –still- going on around the small dinner table at the back. There, Gwaine, Elyan and Leon were informing Gaius as to what had occurred during his absence in Camelot and how they had all ended up in this situation. Even Alator, the sorcerer, had added a few things at one point, giving the white haired man his side of the story. Gaius had only interrupted them a few times, asking questions, uttering no more than three or four quiet words each time. But Arthur hadn't said a thing. Instead he had taken seat away from them, and actually managed to rest for a little while, enough so that he could speak with Gaius as soon as the others were done explaining what had happened. Truth be told, Arthur felt ashamed of the way he had acted before, how he'd let anger consume him like that. And he was glad he had had a little time to cool off.

He hadn't even been angry with Gaius. Not really. No, if anything, he was angry at himself. He just didn't know how to deal with it. All his life, Arthur was afraid of letting people down. People that mattered to him. His father first of all. And then Morgana until her betrayal, and Guinevere and Gaius. And of course, the reason for his current turmoil, Merlin.

He had responded with anger because that had been the easy way to go. And because he had let all this frustration boil inside him for too long. Even now, while appearing calm on the outside, he was struggling to keep himself together, to find something to hold on to, a safety net of some sorts. He tried to remind himself that it was his duty as a King to be strong, to be collected and to deal with these kind of situations. But at the same time, he was haunted by memories of how each time he had faced a similar situation in the past, it had been Merlin that had worked as his anchor, his one constant that made him feel sure about his strength and his ability to work through every obstacle. And hearing the story of how he'd come to lose him, his greatest ally, with every detail, had made it all even worse somehow. As if rubbing salt on a fresh wound. Every single reminder burned holes through the meager defenses he had raised to save himself and left him bleeding, feeling bare and exposed.

Defenseless.

The strangest thing was that what Gaius had said outside, how Merlin had always been loyal, how he had saved them all, had actually satisfied Arthur's need for truthful answers concerning magic. Though he had already heard it in Lucan's speech, seeing Gaius' eyes as he'd spoken, the sincerity written across his features, had made it sink deep in Arthur's skin. And at that moment, he knew that, if he survived this, he would no longer fear magic, or think of it as evil.

He understood then how it was all a lot more complicated than that. There was no black or white in magic. Just different shades of grey. Like in any form of power.

And he didn't want Gaius to be the one to tell him what Merlin had done. Perhaps it was egoistic of him, but Arthur wanted it to be Merlin himself that confided it all to him. Like it should have been all along.

He realized they must have finished telling the tale, because Elyan had come to him with a mug full of hot herbal tea in hand, which he offered to Arthur wordlessly. On the back of the hut, the others had grown silent. Gaius had yet to offer any kind of comment. Though the King understood it was a lot to process, he really needed to talk to Gaius about it all.

_If there is someone who can figure this out... What we should do. What I should do..._

What a King he made. Even now, he was desperately seeking others to tell him how he should proceed.

_Gaius will know a way to take back my Kingdom and save my people. To bring Merlin back. _

He would be willing to do anything it took for that. It was true. He hadn't realised it until then, but now, it was so very obvious. He had let Merlin down, and he would try everything to make it up to him. To be forgiven by the sorcerer and accepted. To have him call him his friend once more. And then, all would be right. The two of them would triumph again, just as they always did.

"Gaius..." he said, as he slowly approached the seated physician and carefully sat beside him. Up close, Gaius seemed as if he had aged a decade in a matter of minutes. He was tired and hunched, his eyes fixed on a spot in the distance, the light in them gone.

The old man turned his head and looked at Arthur. He held the King's gaze for a few moments, and then stared at the walls again.

"I should have seen it," were the first words he muttered. Arthur noted that even his voice sounded older. "I should have realized something was wrong with him. That he wasn't happy. That he was so... affected. When I think back to the night before I left, it was so clear, _right there_..."

He was talking to himself more than anything, Arthur realized.

"How could I have missed it?" the King heard the old man ask. A scoff escaped his lips and he added. "That boy... he's getting better and better at hiding the truth as the years pass."

Arthur could feel the pain in Gaius' words. They were words he too had thought of, questions that had also plagued him.

The older man continued. "He used to confide everything to me... When did I lose that privilege? This Prince... This Lucan, what he said..." he whispered, searching the eyes of the King once more.

And Arthur was shocked to see that there were tears running down Gaius' face, and his voice cracked as he uttered, "Arthur... What have I done? This is my fault..."

He didn't have any idea how to respond to that. He could understand that the old man was feeling responsible for not being observant enough, not caring enough to figure out in time that Merlin had been _that_ desperate, but that hadn't been the case. None of them had treated Merlin right, as he deserved. And most of all Arthur. If anything, Gaius had been the less guilty, as far as the King was concerned. First person to take the blame should be his own royal self.

"What do you mean, Gaius. You didn't do anything wrong..." he was shushed by the vehement shake of the old physician's head.

"You're mistaken, Sire," he said. "Merlin... he _wanted_ to tell you. So many times. It was me who dissuaded him, who kept him from revealing his secret."

And Arthur could see it in his mind clearly. Merlin eager to tell the truth, to trust Arthur with his life, and Gaius reluctant. Afraid of the consequences. The young King couldn't blame the old man, not really. Perhaps if Gaius didn't love Merlin that much, if he didn't consider him a son, then he would have been able to let him take the risk. But that had never been the case.

_If I hadn't been so prejudiced, so narrow-minded... everything would've been different. _

"The number of times that boy cried on my shoulder because he had to once again deny who he really was... and all I could do was ask him to be even _more _patient, to have faith things would change. Urge him to keep up with the lies and the deceit."

Behind him, Arthur sensed Gwaine moving closer. The grave atmosphere had affected everyone inside the small house. It gave the King an odd impression he was at a wake. Like they were mourning for the death of a beloved.

Gwaine's voice startled them all, sounding surprisingly loud.

"I think there was a time when Merlin was happy in Camelot."

Gaius lifted his head to meet the other man's eyes, but Arthur's mind was stuck at what Gwaine had said. Yes, there had been a time when everything had been easier, lighter, happier. When he wasn't the King, and Gwaine wasn't a knight, Gwen had her father, and Morgana was by their side. And Merlin, he had been the servant come friend to the prince of Camelot.

But when they all moved on, Merlin was left behind. He had been unhappy because they made him feel he didn't belong amongst them.

And Arthur wished to change that as fervently as he needed to reclaim his Kingdom.

* * *

"And you're absolutely certain you can't help Percival escape?" Gwen asked the servant.

"No, your Majesty. He is too weak to move, and too heavily guarded, I'm afraid. But I have hidden the sword in the broom cupboard near the court physician's chambers. The other members of the staff rarely use it, so it will be safe for now..." George finished. He was looking at her wide eyed, Gwen could feel his trepidation and worry over all that was happening around him, and his integral role in them. But she could also see that more than anything, the man was determined to help them.

The news he brought them, along with Mithian's breakfast which had been the pretext of his visit, had given Guinevere, if not strength, then definitely the motivation she had been lacking since Camelot's fall. They could form a plan now, and maybe, just maybe, they could begin to hope once more.

She turned to Mithian. The two women exchanged a meaningful look, both seeing only one path to take.

"You need to take the sword to Arthur, George," Gwen told him in a firm voice. The man nodded solemnly, not looking surprised by what she had asked of him.

"Where is Morgana now?" Mithian inquired.

George fidgeted on the spot he was currently occupying."She left a few hours ago. The mercenaries stayed behind, but she took many of her bloodguard with her."

Gwen knew what that meant. They had only a few hours until Morgana would realize she had been led on a false trail. They needed to act fast, before she returned. She didn't want to think of Morgana's wrath once she got back.

Time was of the essence. But how could the servant escape without getting caught? The castle gates where still very much guarded.

_One man __**can**__ be stealthier than a group of people... _

Mithian was apparently having the same thoughts as she spoke next.

"Is there any way he could make it to the stables? Perhaps, from there he could steal a horse and make a run for it..." she suggested. George's expression hearing that was almost comical.

"I-I really don't think I could do it, m-my Lady..." he stuttered. Gwen took a moment to wonder if the servant was talking about the escape or the stealing of a royal horse...

But George was right. That was most likely impossible to achieve. The Queen tried to empty her mind save from one thought. How to get out of the castle safely.

Perhaps with the help of an outsider? Someone who lived in the lower town... But who. Who would be brave enough to go against Morgana like that? To risk their life, the lives of their family... And even if they found someone, could they be trustworthy?

After Morgana's last take over, it had taken months for the common people to find ease. The terror that witch had inflicted had been carved into their minds... Now, things could only be worse. Who would dare to aid them- _wait a minute..._

Morgana's second raid of Camelot. But of course! _The siege tunnels!_

"I know how you'll get out of the castle," she said, excitement evident in her voice. She turned to both Mithian and George who were regarding her with interest. "After Morgana was defeated last time, Arthur reformed the siege tunnels she had used to infiltrate the city. He closed all the old exits, on both sides, and made new ones. The plans and the keys for the doors are kept in a hidden compartment in Arthur's desk," she finished, feeling hopeful.

This could actually work.

She saw the servant nod in agreement. Giving him a faint smile, she continued."All you have to do, George, is find a way to slip into Arthur's chambers, steal the key and the maps and then you can escape! The only entrance to the tunnels that I know of which is in a not very guarded area is in the small storage room near the vaults. The others are either outside the castle or connected to the dungeons."

And now was the perfect time to sneak inside Arthur's rooms... Morgana was gone and many of her men as well. The ones left behind would more likely be guarding the prisoners than empty rooms.

Mithian gave her an encouraging nod. At the same time, George got up, ready to leave, since he had already stayed longer than necessary.

"Wait!" the Queen called him before he knocked to let the guards know he was done in there.

She approached him in a hurry. With a smooth motion, she threw her hair on one side and unclasped one of her earrings. It was a small ruby nested in gold, elegant and beautiful, a gift Arthur had given her on their first year anniversary. She placed it in the servant's palm.

"Tell him I have faith in him..." she whispered. George regarded the item carefully and looked her in the eye, almost shy.

"I- I will..." he said, and Gwen noted how it was the first time he forgot to address her properly.

Like Merlin always did. She felt her chest clench at the thought of her friend.

"And, George," she added, taking a small step back. "If... if _Merlin_ is by any chance with them... Please tell him I am sorry."

* * *

Merlin had never seen so much white in his life. Here, winter had already arrived. The valley they were now crossing rested between two different chains of high mountains, and all was covered in fresh snow, creating a vast landscape that looked like it had been carved in alabaster. The sight was simply breathtaking. The air had a smell of wet ground and a strange, almost sweet taste. It reminded the warlock of honey and milk. Though the temperature had dropped, as they were getting higher, Merlin was comfortably warm in his new travelling clothes.

Declan had took him aside that morning and presented him with the items. A thick tunic and pair of trousers, both dark coloured and made from a very soft fabric, a pair of travelling boots, high to the knee and as the Druid informed him very 'waterproof', a silver buckled leather belt and, finally, a lavish coat made of grey wolf fur. All in all, they were gifts fit for a royal, and Merlin knew it very well.

He had thought of refusing, telling the other man that he did not need pretty things to be pleased. He really wasn't a girl.

But then, the weather had grown colder and the clothes he had left Camelot in were simply inadequate to keep him warm enough. And if he wanted to be completely honest, he liked the idea of a new outfit. It spoke to him of change and seemed like a logical step to take in order to distance himself from his older self.

He wasn't Merlin the servant any more. Not even Merlin of Ealdor.

No, he was Merlin, the sorcerer Emrys, and these clothes were much more fitting. So he had accepted the offerings gratefully.

He was riding along with the rest of the group of Lucan's knights, not at the back but not at the front either, keeping a small but meaningful distance between him and the Prince. It wasn't only because of what he had learned last night.

Yes, Lucan's actions, though noble in what they seeked to achieve, had been questionable –to say the least- in their nature. But Merlin had thought about it a lot during the night. And he found that not only could he relate to Lucan's need for forgiveness, but to the questionable acts themselves.

Had he not taken Arthur's will without a second thought to what that truly meant, not two years ago? He had rendered the King to a fool and it had been just a means to an end. He hadn't even felt guilty about it. That in itself was a violation. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized that it had been the easy way out for him. He could have fought with Arthur, persuaded him to leave, but he just hadn't had the patience to do so. And so he had made a puppet of the King of Camelot.

Perhaps he was worse than Lucan on that aspect. Perhaps not.

It didn't matter anymore. It was all in the past now. And Merlin was almost glad to realize that he could think of Arthur much more painlessly now. And less bitterly too. Though the subject of Camelot was a tender point in the warlock's heart still, the ache and the disappointment had receded, and Merlin had been surprised to find his mind slipping into the fond memories of the past. As he watched the way the Ostian knights talked and jested with each other, he couldn't help but recall the numerous nights spent by a warm fire, sharing stories and jokes with the people he regarded as his closest friends.

It was a dangerous trail of thoughts, Merlin knew it. And thus he willed them away and tried to concentrate on what lay ahead of him. A future, and hopefully a brighter one.

Merlin needed some time to prepare himself for the people he would meet when they would arrive at Ostia. He had talked with Declan about meeting the Druid elders, and he knew Lucan wanted him to be presented to his father officially. It was thrilling and slightly intimidating for Merlin to think that for the first time in his life he could introduce himself as who he really was. No more lies.

It was so alien to him. It was a dream he hadn't dared to dream in a while, and it was happening. And so he had chosen the company of the knights, who had never addressed him, always keeping a respectful distance, than that of either the Prince or his Druid companion, who would be bound to bring up the matter in one way or another.

Thinking of dreams, his mind travelled at the one recurring nightmare that just wouldn't leave him. If he hadn't known better, he would say it was a vision. But the dream in itself couldn't be anything more than a nightmare due to the stress and the anxiety he had been experiencing lately.

It always began the same. With screams and cries. And then he would see the faces of the people he had lost, calling him, dying in his arms, and he would be unable to stop any of it. And Freya would weep and his father's eyes would lose their inner light as they would drift away from him, always leaving him alone. And then he would see them. Gwen crying, Camelot burning... Arthur walking away from him with dead eyes.

"See that hill over there?"

Merlin almost fell off his horse as he turned abruptly to face the knight that had addressed him. It was the captain, Sir Gilbert. The older man pointed ahead with a gloved hand.

"Once we're up there, we'll be able to see the city. It's only an hour's ride from there on..." he provided.

Merlin thanked him with a nod. There, so close. Just over that hill...

He thought of the city of Ostia, how it would look like. He imagined the houses, simply built but sturdy, the smoke from their chimneys rising lazily to the clear winter sky. He pictured little alleyways and the crowded streets, so much like Camelot's and yet so different. As for the castle, Merlin thought it would be nothing like the gleaming white palace of Camelot. Instead, his mind travelled to greying old stones and intricately carved walls, low turrets and colourful banners.

Inside that castle he would find rooms filled with magic books and numerous enchanted artefacts. Druids living peacefully amongst the common people, sharing their knowledge and wisdom.

He smiled.

_Ostia, here I come_.

* * *

It was close to nightfall. Arthur had already met with the village elders, as well as Sir Lamorak, one of the two knights he had sent to escort Gaius. The other knight, Sir Brenn had left that morning to find out what had happened in Camelot. Lamorak took the news of Morgana's victory fairly well, given he hadn't been around during the first two times she had conquered the city. The young knight had surprised Arthur even more when, after hearing the truth about Merlin, he had actually said that it had made more sense to know the servant was in fact magic.

_Have I been the only one completely in the dark?_

Gaius had recovered from his earlier emotional breakdown very quickly, not that the situation allowed any one of them to waste precious time doing nothing but wallowing.

The old physician was in a very serious conversation with Alator, discussing the odds they had against Morgana and her army. The two had seemed to overcome their initial unease and had gone straight to business. The King had tried to contribute at least something to their talk, seeing as it was technically _his_ job to come up with a plan, but sooner than later he had given up. He could follow only half of what they were saying, seeing as they were using terms he had never heard of before.

"The creature was a Golem of Stone, of that I am certain," Alator said gravely.

"If that is true, then she has grown even more powerful. A Stone Golem won't be easy to kill..." the old physician added.

Elyan had been lingering close for a while, and as soon as he heard that, he asked the two men concerned.

"Are you referring to that terrible stone monster under Morgana's commands?"

They just nodded in response. Arthur saw the fear in his knight's eyes. He had seen the magical creature they were talking about and he knew it was not a matter to be taken lightly.

"Can it even be killed?" Arthur asked suddenly.

Gaius looked troubled for a moment and then he answered.

"I believe so, Sire. But swords can inflict no harm on a Stone Golem. I seem to recall that only blunt weapons, like maces or war hammers, can destroy it. And still it would be a long process. I doubt anyone could really survive a battle with a Stone Golem long enough to actually kill it. Though..." the old physician paused, thinking.

"What?" Arthur asked after a moment had past and Gaius hadn't continued.

"I'm not sure, Sire. But I think that, given it is a creature of magical nature, it is logical to assume that magic _can_ affect it. Though it would have to be very powerful magic at that..."

Alator intervened at that point.

"That is why our first action should be to bring Emrys back. Though how is still another matter. As long as he is on the move, we cannot send word to him, even with magic. And we can't wait for him to reach his destination, because we simply don't have the time. But you know it too Gaius, if there is one person that can defeat Morgana and her magic, it is him. He has done it before, he can do it again."

It was amazing how that one last sentence, coming from the mouth of a man Arthur hardly even knew, changed everything inside the King in a matter of milliseconds. In a rare moment of clarity, Arthur thought back on all those other times when Merlin had played the key role in everything and had secured Camelot's safety.

All he could think of until that moment was how he could make Merlin come back and then, with his help, take Camelot back from Morgana. Now that he had finally understood his mistaken ideas over magic, Arthur assumed that Merlin would forgive him and gladly resume his position by Arthur's side.

How utterly foolish of him. Childish even.

Merlin had left because of a combination of reasons, but the main one was that he had ultimately lost his faith in Arthur. Not only concerning Arthur's views on magic, but as a friend and a King. He had finally realized that all King Arthur had ever been was a front for Merlin's own accomplishments. And as much as he hated it, Arthur had come to accept that as true.

So why should Merlin come back? So that they would use him once more to win? How could that ever prove to the sorcerer that Arthur was now worthy? That he was a good king? His Once and Future King...

He would simply be doing what he had been unknowingly doing for years. Depending yet again on Merlin for a solution.

No. It was time for Arthur to take on his responsibilities. It was time for him to start acting like his own man, like a proper king. To finally be a man that had something to offer, instead of one that only knew how to take.

And though a proper King would be wise and humble enough to ask for help when he could not deal with a situation on his own, Arthur knew that he couldn't ask for Merlin's. Not anymore. Because he had lost that right. And if he ever wanted to regain that privilege, then he would have to earn it.

He had decided.

* * *

George could feel his heart beat wildly against his ribcage as he pressed himself to the walls and prayed to every god that listened for Morgana not to spot him.

It had been a few hours ago when he, rather easily, had stolen the key and the map from the King's chambers, slipping between the patrolling guards that were sweeping the castle's corridors. After retrieving the sword and packing it neatly in thick fabric as to not really be recognizable as a weapon, he had set off to the lower levels of the palace, towards the vaults of Camelot.

He had heard her distinctive voice first, and thankfully had the time to hide in a nearby shadowy alcove.

Then he saw her. Morgana. She was walking towards him, and her rage was palpable. He had never felt more scared in his life.

"Brog!" she yelled, stopping just before the stairs that led to the dungeons. George wasn't surprised to see the mercenary captain coming almost running towards the witch.

"Your Majesty! You're back!" he exclaimed. George thought the huge man was sounding less pleased than one would expect of him about his Queen's quick return.

"How astute of you! Yes I'm back! It was a dead end! There wasn't a trail... none of the villagers knew _any_ of the knights... And trust me, I made sure none of them was lying. That leaves only explantion... That snake of a prisoner, Arthur's knight, he lied to me... He'll pay dearly for misleading me." Her eyes glowed as her anger manifested in them. "Bring Guinevere to his cell. I had warned him this would happen. She will suffer for his lies..."

George's eyes rounded and a soft gasp escaped his lips. Thankfully for him, the mercenary had covered him by speaking.

"My Lady..." he heard the man say. This time he sounded definitely apprehensive. Morgana, though, didn't get the underlying tone of fear in Brog's voice.

"What are you doing, you insolent fool? I gave you an order!" she barked, turning to head towards the dungeons.

The mercenary captain intercepted her. "Queen Morgana, please listen to me. There is... _something_ you must know," he said, almost flinching at that last sentence.

From Morgana's changed expression, George came to the conclusion she had finally understood something was amiss.

"What? Out with it!"

For a moment George dared to hope. Could it be possible that Sir Percival had managed to escape?

Then Brog spoke again.

"The knight, the prisoner... He's _dead_."

George's heart skipped a beat. This couldn't be true. It just... couldn't.

Morgana was now looking at the mercenary as if he had grown a second head.

"What did you say?" she asked slowly.

The man took her initial calm reaction as a leave to speak a little more freely.

"He succumbed to his wounds earlier this afternoon, your Majesty. There was nothing we could..."

"YOU ARE LYING!" the witch exploded. Her eyes burned gold and in an instant, the mercenary was suspended in the air, his hands desperately grasping his throat, unable to draw a single breath. George was left completely frozen by everything that was occurring before his eyes.

"When I left Camelot," Morgana continued harshly, "he was _nowhere_ near death. I know very well what I did to him. So I'm giving you one chance to tell me what really happened..."

With that she lowered the man, letting his feet touch the floor. The mercenary crumbled down, taking deep gasps to fill his deprived lungs with air and simultaneously coughing loudly.

Morgana couldn't care less.

"Did you, or did you not, _kill_ the only prisoner who could give us Arthur's whereabouts? ANSWER ME!"

The mercenary looked up to the witch Queen. There was real terror in the man's eyes. But there was also anger.

When he answered, his voice was rough from nearly being strangled.

"He had taken down _three_ of my men before we managed to capture him. I only let them take revenge for their fallen comrades. They never meant to kill him, it was an accident..."

Morgana slapped him then. The sound echoed through the empty corridors.

"_Comrades?_ You are mercenaries! You lot would kill your own mothers for a few pieces of silver!" she grunted through her teeth.

Grasping the kneeled mercenary's head by the hair, she shouted.

"Do you have _any_ idea what you've cost me? I should cut your throat open and let you choke on your own blood!" she hissed at him, moving to reach for her dagger with her free hand.

The mercenary's eyes widened.

"No! Please, my lady! Perhaps... perhaps we could use the Queen to extract information from someone else! Like... the palace staff! They seem to be everywhere, surely they must know something they're not telling us..." he blurted. Morgana had stopped mid-movement and appeared to be considering what the man had said.

Finally, she let go of him, the mercenary letting out a relieved sigh as he tried to get to his feet.

"There is but one solution..." the witch said once he was standing. "If we can't find Arthur's hideout, then we must make _him_ come to _us_."

George felt goosebumps hearing the darkness in Morgana's voice. He knew instantly that something really bad was about to happen.

"I want you to gather up a group of your men, at least twelve, as well as any messenger or herald you can find. You are to send them out of the gates with the order to spread these words as far as they can, as fast as they can... _If Arthur Pendragon does not surrender to me for his execution within the next three days, on the sunset of the third day, Guinevere Pendragon will meet her end at the stake_."

The hidden servant didn't catch the mercenary's reply. All he could think of was that he needed to find the King now more than ever.

* * *

So, what do you think? Am I forgiven for taking so long? :P

I'll be eagerly waiting for your reviews!


	12. Chapter 11: What lies ahead

A/N: Just wanted to thank all the people that have reviewed, favorited, alerted the story! It is your amazing response, your support that gives me the strength and inspiration to write.

On to the next chapter!

* * *

**Chapter 11: What lies ahead**

"Would you be needing anything else, sir?" the maid, a young girl not older than fifteen years old, asked politely. Merlin lifted his eyes from the book he was reading startled and gave her a shy smile. He saw the dinner she had just delivered waiting for him on the table. Dried venison and bread, along with some vegetable broth and a cup of wine.

"No, thank you. It looks wonderful. Smells amazing…" he kindly observed, realizing he was indeed starving. The girl gave him a small curtsey and left, wishing him a pleasant evening.

He put down the book and walked to the table. He hadn't been able to eat anything since he had arrived at the city of Ostia. The anxiousness of being in a completely new and foreign environment, combined with his excitement of meeting the King and the Druids had neatly tied his stomach into a knot, so it was now, in the calm surroundings of his new chambers that he was finally able to think about satisfying his, raving, hunger.

While eating, he found himself thinking of all that had happened during that day. So many new experiences, Merlin could hardly believe it had only been a few hours.

_The great doors opened and Lucan stepped inside. Behind him, Declan gave him a light push, urging him to follow the prince. The warlock took a deep breath and straightened his back before he too entered._

_It was significantly smaller than the throne room of Camelot, but what it lacked in size was compensated by the lavish decorations on the walls, deep purple and gold, and the elegant throne that was placed in the middle. There, surrounded by a few nobles and knights of the Ostian court, was Lucan's father, King Leonard. _

_The King had stood up to greet the new arrivals, though it was perfectly obvious he had eyes only for his returning son. Merlin felt some of the others stare at him, but instead of letting it affect him, he focused on the man he was about to formally meet._

_Lucan's father was a tall man for his age, perhaps as tall as his son. He had white hair that reached his shoulders and a thick white- and very masterfully trimmed – beard. He wasn't wearing a crown. His clothes too were quite simple for a King. He wore a dark blue attire, obviously of the finest quality, but very modest in its design. He also didn't have any jewelry on, with the exception of a small golden amulet and a signet ring. _

_His eyes were regarding his son fondly, shining with pride._

_When Lucan was in front of him, he kneeled. Behind the Prince, Merlin bowed his head in a show of respect to the king. He heard some mutters from the people gathered there that were expecting him to follow the prince's example and fall to one knee. It didn't matter though. Merlin was done bending the knee. If a King wanted his fealty, he would have to earn it._

"_Father…" Lucan addressed his King as soon as he was up again. The way he said that word, __**father**__, the way his eyes just lit up, made the warlock shiver. He thought then of how much their lives, who they really were, was defined by those who brought them into the world. Uther had been Arthur's greatest influence, just as Leonard had been Lucan's. Even Balinor, his own father, though having featured in his son's life very briefly, had left Merlin a great legacy and a true idea of who he really was._

_Lucan continued, sounding more formal."Sire, I am happy to inform you that my journey hasn't been in vain. Indeed I found the man I was looking for and, more importantly, I brought him back with me."_

_That caused another bout of whispers to travel around the King's companions. All eyes where now focused on Merlin, and the young man had to force himself not to gulp._

"_Please, allow me to introduce to you… Emrys."_

_The Prince took a step back and to the side, leaving Merlin at the first line before the King. The old man, because he __**was**__ old, older than Uther by many years, though not as ancient as Gaius, took a step towards the warlock. He was watching Merlin with a strange look, almost… amused? It unnerved him a little bit._

_And then, the King did the most unexpected thing of all. He closed his eyes, brought his hand to rub at his forehead and sighed deeply._

"_Ah, Lucan… At your age, you should be bringing noblemen's daughters for me to meet, not sorcerers! Honestly! Young people these days…" _

_Merlin was gaping, not believing what he heard. This was not what he had anticipated to happen the first time he would be formally introduced as a sorcerer, as Emrys. He knew from Lucan that King Leonard was aware of the prophecies about him. _

_Perhaps the King didn't believe he was Emrys, seeing as he was so young?_

"_So, Emrys…" the older man addressed him, and once more Merlin saw mirth in his eyes. "That is a name the Druids call you by, isn't it?"_

_He nodded dimly, but didn't dare say anything. He was at a loss._

"_I don't suppose your mother ever called you that, though. So, tell me. What is your __**true**__ name?" the King asked him, and this time he had a gentle undertone in his voice, and Merlin suddenly felt like a boy, scolded for some mischief he had managed when his parents weren't looking._

"_It's Merlin, Sire," he all but mumbled, noting he didn't sound at all like a great sorcerer. He cleared his throat awkwardly._

_But to Merlin's utter astonishment, the King gave him at last a large, unguarded smile._

"_Very good…" he said almost under his breath, though Merlin was close enough to hear. "Let me welcome you then, Merlin, to the kingdom of Ostia."_

After finishing his dinner, Merlin walked to the writing desk beneath the window. There was a very nice view of the courtyard, covered in snow, though now it was probably too dark to see.

The two books he had gotten earlier that day were placed upon it. They were big tomes that took almost all the surface of the small furniture. Merlin could scarcely believe it. He had two books of magic lying there for all the world to see. Gifts from the King and the Druids of Ostia to him, Merlin the sorcerer. He refrained from pinching his arm. It was all real. Just minutes before, he had been studying one of his new treasures, cataloguing all the new spells he had found interesting and noting variation of older ones, some amongst his favorites.

The book King Leonard had given him was an ancient tome of various spells, very much like his old magic book back in Camelot, though a lot bigger in size and in excellent condition. All the pages were illustrated with intricate drawings and rich colors, and many of the spells had hand written notes around them. Lucan had told him that this book belonged to one of his tutors, the one that had been a sorcerer. Merlin didn't fail to notice how well taken care of this book had been, though its owner must have been long gone. Strangely, it warmed his heart. He could feel it was a very precious, very _loved_ possession, and it made him feel honored to be entrusted with something like that.

The other book, the gift of the Druid Elders, was -unsurprisingly- a book on healing and therapeutic magic. Merlin had barely managed to glimpse at it and for that he felt extremely guilty. Again, he had to remind himself that now he could take his time finishing up with the first one, before he moved on to the next. There was nothing else in the way of his studies.

_The settlement was hidden well inside the center of the thick forest. It differed from all the other Druid camps Merlin had seen in one very important matter. It was made of small houses, huts really, and not tends. These people weren't persecuted by anyone, they weren't on the run. They didn't need to be living on the edge, ready to flee when someone tracked them. Everything was covered in white, and the carefree_ _sound of children playing in the snow made Merlin's heart flutter._

_Declan was ahead this time, following a path that led to the bigger house at the center of the settlement. Lucan and Merlin followed him in silence. _

_As Merlin proceeded, the people around him stopped whatever it was they were doing and simply stared at him. Even the smaller ones ceased their games and started trailing behind Merlin, not daring to come too close to him, but excited none the less._

_And all around him he could hear their whispers._

_Emrys. Emrys is here._

_Meeting the Druids had been a lot less stressful than meeting the King. Merlin had even gotten some answers out of them. For one, he knew now that the stone Lucan had used in Camelot to freeze everyone was a very valuable artifact called 'The Watcher's Stone'. As it turned out, it had been created centuries ago by a powerful sorcerer as a means to help a King keep his court at order during a time of disturbance. _

_There hadn't been any mention of __**the ritual**__, though. Merlin wasn't sure if they did it because they weren't aware that he knew or because they didn't feel they should apologize for anything. That last thought disturbed him._

_Then, they had taken him off their settlement, to a place called 'The Hidden Tunnels', a set of narrow caves and corridors deep in the bowels of the mountain. There were people living in there too, tends and bedrolls scattered in every nook and cranny. _

_Declan was chosen to show him around and that's how they found themselves wondering inside the dark pathways._

_They had reached one of the bigger anterooms, when Merlin realized that someone was following them. He paused where he was standing, and soon enough a little girl appeared from behind a stone column. Seeing the warlock standing there patiently, she apparently found courage to approach him. Her eyes were big, unmoving, and for a moment, Merlin remembered another druid child, looking at him with wide pleading eyes, silent but for the voice in his head ringing loudly, calling for help._

_**Soon you will see, Emrys**__. _

_Merlin was startled by the girl's calm voice speaking in his mind, though he really shouldn't. _

"_Who are you?" he asked her, keeping his tone low as to not be heard by Declan, who had moved further down the path. _

_She didn't respond, merely smiled at him serenely and then lifted a hand. When Merlin looked at where she was pointing, he saw another, second path, almost invisible in the low torchlight that lit the cavern._

"_Where does that lead to?" he wondered, turning to the child once more, only to find the room completely empty. _

_It didn't take much to convince Merlin to take the second path. Declan would understand, he would wait for him. _

_The second tunnel was almost pitch black dark, and Merlin was forced to magically summon light to the palm of his hand in order to be able to see at least well enough so that he could walk without stumbling onto something._

_The path winded and winded, getting narrower with every step, until, at last, Merlin reached a small chamber. A strange cerulean light reflected upon the walls, and Merlin immediately spotted its source. _

_In the middle of the chamber, neatly placed upon a pedestal, was a round basin full of water. Slowly, Merlin walked towards it. He could feel strange vibrations in the air, magic, lingering there inside the room, calling for him._

_Closer, he could see it wasn't an ordinary vessel. The basin was made of pure silver, and at the edges he could clearly make out carvings of druidic runes. A faint light was coming from inside the water._

"_I guess I shouldn't be surprised you of all people have managed to find this place…"_

_He jumped when he heard Declan's voice from behind him._

"_Please don't do that…" he replied to the Druid, annoyed. Judging by the other man's smile, he didn't regret startling the warlock one bit._

_Merlin shook his head and turned back towards the strange artifact._

"_What is this?" he murmured, knowing that Declan would hear him well enough._

_Declan seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he replied carefully._

"_My people call it __**Eagðyrl of se**_ _**Middangeard**__. The Window of the World. Through its waters, one can see whatever and wherever he wished."_

_The warlock nodded, understanding what the other was saying._

"_So it is a scrying mirror…" he said, his eyes never leaving the calm surface of the crystal water._

"_Something like that," the Druid agreed. "It is similar to the ones used by the Priestesses of the Old Religion to spy amongst the common people. This one too requires very powerful magic to work. The last person able to use it died more than fifteen years ago. She was a very wise woman, a great healer. I was fortunate enough to have met her…"_

_Merlin didn't respond, as he thought about what this could possibly mean. Who was the little girl and what was she trying to tell him?_

"_Come now, my friend. We should be heading back to the settlement. I think they too have something to give you…"_

He placed the dark blue ribbon that protruded from the book's binding between the pages, as a mark, and closed the book. It was getting late and the events of the day were finally catching up on him.

Merlin drifted to the other side of his chambers where the large bed was situated. He found a new set of night clothes upon it. After he had changed, he climbed on the bed, under the warm covers. He sighed, feeling his fatigue slip away as he melted onto the comfortable mattress.

All in all, it had been a good day.

* * *

George took another careful step, trying to make as little sound as he could. Though it was very nearly impossible to move quietly inside the forest, when it was a moonless night and he didn't even have a torch to light the way. It was probably for the best, anyway. A torch could attract unwanted attention from both humans and animals alike.

The sword was strapped securely on his back, reminding him of his goal. He needed to find the King as soon as possible.

A shuffle sounding suddenly behind him made him still. After a minute passed and nothing happened, George continued on his way.

It hadn't been more than three hours ago when he had stopped to ask for directions at a large farm, very near the main road. The family there had been a little weary of him, but had told him which was the fastest way to Herdsdale.

Since then, there had been at least two or three times when George was almost certain someone was following him.

_It's in my imagination, just my imagination… No one is there…_

That's when a hand reached out from behind and grabbed him.

* * *

Arthur stepped inside the hut and relished in the warmth that enveloped him. He had been up since the wee hours of the morning, unable to sleep for more than a few hours. Instead, he had decided to take a stroll around the village to clear his mind and relieve whomever it was -Elyan- of guarding duty earlier. He knew his men needed the rest and as sleep seemed to elude him, why not kill two birds with one stone?

It had a calming effect on his troubled mind, walking the perimeter alone, with slow, steady steps. It provided a rhythm, forced his thoughts and feelings to settle, to become clearer.

He had yet to tell the others of his plans not to search for Merlin. He knew he would have to come up with a solid plan before he did so. Most of them, mainly Gaius and Alator, perhaps Gwaine too, would object in doing this without Merlin.

They would say they needed a strong sorcerer. They would probably be right too. Arthur had enough information to know that there was a good chance Merlin was perfectly capable of taking Morgana out with very little help from others. But that wasn't the point.

It was Arthur's fight. His war. Morgana was _his_ sister, after his crown, hurting his people. And Merlin, he had done enough for all of them. Either out of faith in the prophecies or out of love for the people he regarded as friends, Merlin had always played the most crucial part in defeating Morgana, and had never taken any credit for it.

It was time they started doing things for themselves. Time for Arthur to start acting like a real leader, a King that Merlin could be proud of. Because, if he wanted to be completely frank, he owed that much to Merlin. Even if he never saw him again, even if he died facing Morgana, he would at least be somewhat at peace with himself, knowing that he had evened the scales a little bit, had paid a part of his debt.

The others wouldn't agree with him, of course. They would say it was a suicide, going back without Merlin's help. That was why Arthur needed to come up with a plan. But for a plan to be formed, he needed information about Morgana's men, their numbers, if there were any magic users among them, if she had any secret weapons, other than the Golem. And then, there was the matter of the survivors and the people she held as captives. Guinevere, his knights, the citizens of Camelot.

In the end, he had to make do with what the knights had reported to him. So he made up a plan, the best he, could given the situation. And when he returned to the small house where the rest of his group was situated, he was ready to face all of them.

As he had expected, they were all there, discussing what their next move should be.

"Sire!" Leon exclaimed when he saw him. The others turned and upon seeing him muttered various forms of welcome. He walked to them and stopped a few paces from the table around which they were all gathered. Inhaling deeply, he straightened his back before he addressed them all, as formally as he could.

"I need to talk to all of you," he said, and everyone fell silent. "I have come to a decision as to how we'll proceed. I've come up with a plan, but, first, I must tell you all something, and I ask of you to obey my wishes."

He could see Gaius shooting him an alarmed look, while his Knights just nodded, respecting the will of their King.

"I've decided we will not ask for Merlin's help."

The immediate response was exactly what he had expected. The knights looked at him in surprise, with expressions that varied from Leon's simple astonishment to Gwaine's blatant disapproval, if not anger.

Gaius was vivid. He had gotten up from where he was sitting, looking at Arthur as if he'd gone mad.

"What are you saying, Arthur? Is this because of Merlin's magic? Have you decided it is too much for you to forgive, is that it?" he questioned in an accusing manner.

Arthur was affronted. "What are you talking about, Gaius! Of course it's n…"

But Gwaine interrupted him before he could finish.

"I think that, by now, it's fairly obvious that it had been Merlin that had been wining all _your_ wars, Arthur…" the knight hissed, not able to contain his temper any longer.

And neither could Arthur.

"Do you really believe I don't know that? I am NOT STUPID, Gwaine! I haven't been able to think of anything other than that! How do you suppose it makes me feel knowing that the moment my manservant left me, the whole Kingdom fell to the hands of my enemies? Knowing it was _because of Merlin_ that it had been still standing in the first place! _I know that I owe it all to him, damn it!_"

Arthur kicked at the table in front of him, seething. His mind was reeling from all the anger and hurt he was experiencing. It was so _humiliating_ to admit all those things in front of his knights and friends, but it was necessary too. He knew now that it had been his arrogance, his enormous ego that put him in this situation in the first place. That didn't allow him to see Merlin for who he really was, and eventually drove him away.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. He needed to explain it to them, make them all understand his reasoning.

"I don't _care_ about the magic," he said, his voice sounding hoarse from the previous bout of shouting. "I really, really don't. By now, I think the number of times magic had been used to save me surpasses by far those where it had been used to harm me."

He focused his eyes on Gwaine, and, upon seeing the other man had deflated a bit, he continued. "Don't you see? I'm… I'm doing this for _him_, Gwaine. I'm doing this for Merlin. I'm respecting his decision to step away…"

He held the knight's gaze for a long moment, until the other slowly relaxed his features, lowering his head a little, in a manner that could be taken as apologetic.

Arthur turned to the others then. "This is my Kingdom, not Merlin's. I'm responsible for its safety…"

He looked at the old physician, watching him with tired eyes. "I want Merlin to come back, Gaius. You of all people should know that. But I believe now that the only way he could ever return is if I proved to him that I am worthy of his friendship. Of the sacrifices he has made. I will not ask anything more of him. Because there is a chance, small as it is, that he would agree to help me. And then I would be doing the same thing that drove him away in the first place. I would be using him to clean up my own mess…"

Arthur, paused, feeling as if his strength had run out.

"I just… I can't do that," he added with a small voice, feeling now completely empty.

Gaius had come close to him, placing a hand upon his shoulder.

"Arthur," Gaius spoke to him, trying to sooth him. "Merlin's place is by your side. Sooner or later, he'll remember that…"

"How can you say that, Gaius? If what Lucan said is true, Merlin will find some other…"

"No, Arthur. You must listen to me now. I know that what the Prince said has affected you almost as much as Merlin. And perhaps he said some things that were true, but, at least in one matter he is mistaken, Sire," he paused as to make sure Arthur was paying attention.

"You _are_ the Once and Future King, Arthur. I know you are. I may not share the kind of connection Merlin does with the Great Dragon, but I've known him longer than any other alive and I am certain that he would _never_ lie about something as crucial as that. Yes, he used the situation to his advantage, he exploited Merlin's destiny to serve his own ends, but he did not make it up. This is too important for him to play with. You and Merlin are destined to be by each other's side."

Arthur found that he wanted to believe what Gaius was saying. That, despite everything, Merlin would end up forgiving him, would come back and never again leave his side.

"Merlin has been betrayed by the Great Dragon in the past. He almost lost his mother because of him. And until this day, he feels guilty over the lives lost from the attack the Dragon unleashed as soon as he freed him. It is logical for him to believe what Lucan told him."

Alator, who had been very quiet during all this, calmly stood up and addressed him.

"I hadn't known about the prophecies of Emrys until a few years ago, when I first met Merlin. Since then, I have searched everywhere to find what has been written about him, and about the time of Albion he was foretold to bring. Very few texts have survived the Great Purge, but I was able to find some references to the prophecies. I know now there are more than one versions of the legend. But none of my findings suggest that Emrys is the one who chooses who the Once and Future King is. Like Merlin, you too were born with a great destiny, Arthur Pendragon."

Then he turned to the physician, who was nodding his head, agreeing with what the other man said.

"Gaius is right. Emrys has been misguided into thinking his future lies elsewhere. But it doesn't. That is why we must find a way to contact him, talk to him, bring him back. His place is here, by your side."

It was strange how being told he was destined to be this Great King after all, didn't affect Arthur's decision at all. That was all very nice to hear, but it didn't change the fact that Merlin had left because he was tired of the way Arthur had been treating him. And the King wouldn't use some prophecy as an excuse to justify what he had done. Arthur had seen the wrong in his ways, and he believed there was only one approach he could take that could possibly help him right it.

He found it was something he could now admit easily.

"If what you say is true, then it is just another reason for me not to go searching for Merlin. I'm supposed to be the Greatest King of All, but I haven't done anything unaided. And all this time, I had no idea… I think I'll have to earn the right to ask Merlin to come back."

A loud, frantic knock turned everyone's attention to the door. Sir Lamorak who was closer, opened it to find one of the young village lads behind it.

The young man had been obviously running and was trying to catch his breath.

"Sir Knight!" he exclaimed, and then his eyes fell on all the others, and most obviously Arthur.

"Sire! Sir Brenn has returned! He is entering the village as we speak! He has a man with him…"

Arthur was grabbing the first sword he could find and making for outside.

"Do you know who the other man is? What does he look like?" he asked.

"I don't know who it is, Sire. I only saw them from a distance. But I remember he was wearing a blue tunic, brown jacket and a red scarf around his neck."

Everyone in the room froze for a second. Arthur could see them exchanging hopeful looks. He didn't know what he was supposed to feel. Hopeful, apprehensive, relieved? Did it matter at all?

In the end, he was the first to step outside, nearly making a run for the two figures he could see walking towards the center of the village in the distance.

* * *

"Declan, wait!" the Prince of Ostia shouted, seeing the Druid passing through the castle's hallway in the distance. The other man turned and waved at him happily.

"You wanted something, Lucan?" he asked as soon as the prince had caught up with him.

"Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. Have you by any chance seen Merlin? I haven't seen him since this morning and I wanted to tell him he's invited to dine with father and me this evening. He wasn't in his chambers or the library. I checked twice…" he trailed off, cringing at how pathetic he must have been sounding.

Thankfully, Declan didn't comment on that, though judging by the smirk on his face he was barely containing himself, and smoothly provided him with an answer.

"I know where he is, alright. I sent him there myself!" he smiled at Lucan's obvious anticipation. Finally he relented. "He is up at the abandoned tower in the west wing. Wanted to find a place to practice some new spells. I thought it would suit him nicely… Oh! That reminds me…" he shuffled through his robes, searching all the hidden pockets Lucan knew were there, until he found what he was looking for. He let out a happy exclamation and presented a small vial, full of a deep red liquid to the Prince.

"Merlin said he needed some for a spell he wanted to try. Here," he placed the small bottle into the Prince's hand.

"Do I want to know what's in it?" Lucan asked warily.

Making a grimace, Declan shook his head. "Probably not…" he said, his eyes twinkling, and then turned on his heel, leaving Lucan behind.

Used to his friends idiosyncrasies, Lucan just tucked the vial into his pocket and made for the west wing tower. Once he was up, he scanned the area for any signs of Merlin. The top of the abandoned tower was one wide circular main chamber, full of broken down beams and debris. The tower used to be a complex of storages and workrooms, until some years ago, when a large part of the outer wall had been rendered to ruins, fallen victim of the winter storms. Since then, it had been left there unused, the damage too great for repair, especially when better buildings had been raised to serve for its purpose.

He found Merlin near the gap in the wall, staring at the ground far beneath. For a moment Lucan felt dread seeing the young man hovering so close to the edge. But one look at Merlin's face was enough for the prince to relax.

The warlock's eyes were shining bright gold, and when he moved closer, Lucan could see that Merlin's mouth was moving, if slightly. He was obviously casting a spell, though the prince couldn't understand what kind.

At that moment a gust of wind rose from the base of the tower, howling wildly. Lucan made to move back but Merlin stopped him, shooting a hand to grab him by the coat.

"Wait…" he told the prince, not bothering to turn and look at him. Lucan followed Merlin's line of sight, to the air in front. And indeed, not long after the wind had blown, a figure appeared in the sky. It was dancing in the air, twirling and howling alongside the wind, its shape constantly changing. A woman laughing, a horse galloping, an eagle flying, a wolf running. Lucan had never seen anything like it. It was as if the air around him had come to life and was singing to him.

"There…" Merlin said, after a while. "What do you think?"

Lucan couldn't take his eyes off of the mesmerizing sight before him. It was moving now, going farther away, up into the endless winter sky. Belatedly, he realized he hadn't answered the question. It was amazing how this man, younger than him by some years, had the unique ability to make him feel like he was a young boy again. One good word from his mouth made the prince's heart soar, one disappointed look made him hate himself.

_No wonder Declan teases me so… I do act like a love-struck maiden… _

"It was extraordinary…" he answered him. Merlin smiled in return.

"It was a summoning spell. There are many benevolent spirits inhabiting the world around us. These were spirits of the air. Beautiful, were they not?" he explained as the two made their way down the stairs.

"I always dreamt of doing something like this. Learning about the good magic first hand. Lately, it felt like every time I had to use my magic, it was only to destroy or kill. And even then, always with caution, always within a limit."

Lucan understood what Merlin was saying. Up there, the warlock had looked so… free. Like he had no care in the world, it was just him, the air and magic. It filled the Prince's heart with joy to know he was the one providing Emrys with all these things that had been kept from him.

They had reached the ground and started for Merlin's new chambers when Lucan finally remembered the vial.

"Declan gave me something for you," he said, taking the item out of his pocket and offering it to the warlock. Merlin took it with a simple thank you and went back to walking, looking pensive. The serenity that had been so evident in his features before had vanished now and the young man had an almost troubled expression.

"Is something wrong, Merlin?" Lucan asked, carefully. They had reached their destination, Merlin's rooms just over the threshold of the large wooden door. Merlin had stopped, regarding Lucan with a frown.  
"Please know that you can talk to me if there is anything troubling you…" he tried one last time, feeling the need to step back, let the other man decide if he wants to do that or not.

With a wave of his hand, Merlin unlocked the door to his rooms and gestured for Lucan to come inside. The Prince felt immensely relieved, though he tried not to show it too much.

"It's nothing important…" the warlock started, making his way to sit at the table. Lucan joined him sitting in the chair across. Merlin hesitated for a while, perhaps not knowing how to explain his problem to Lucan, but then he started talking, his voice lower and more serious.

"I've been having these… dreams. Well, one recurring dream, really. It started a few days before I left Camelot. It's… I keep seeing people I've lost, loved ones."

He paused, like he was waiting for Lucan to interrupt him. When that didn't happen, he continued.

"It always ends the same way. Morgana sits on the throne of Camelot, Gwen is crying, and _Arthur_…" he couldn't finish.

Lucan tried to think it through with a clear mind. From what he knew of Merlin's powers, the Sight was not something the warlock possessed. And the way the dream began, with memories of the people closer to him, those he lost and then moving to those he had ultimately left behind, Lucan was almost certain the dream was a work of Merlin's 'guilty' conscious. But then again, Merlin had said the dream began before he left Camelot. Though even then, the pressure he was under had been big, and it had gotten even worse as the days had gone by.

"You were under a lot of stress back then, Merlin, were you not? With Arthur, pushing every menial task at you, your injury, the threat of Morgana still hovering in the air, your constant fear of being revealed… I think it is just a nightmare, fueled by your anxiety and concern. Soon it'll pass, you'll see."

The warlock nodded, still looking thoughtful, and finally gave him a tired smile. Lucan got up to leave him get some rest.

"Don't forget you dine with the royal family this evening. I'll sent a maid to fetch you in time. If we're lucky, my cousin Augustus will be joining us as well. I'm telling you that boy has the most wicked sense of humor, it's uncanny."

* * *

After Merlin's departure and Morgana's attack, Gwaine had thought things couldn't possibly get any worse. He had been proven wrong, as it turned out.

It had been hours since the absent Sir Brenn had returned to the village, bringing with him a very disheveled George, Arthur's sword and the gravest news one could ever imagine.

Outside it was getting dark. The knight walked on the edge of the village, following the sound of cringing metal.

Gwaine hated what their tightly knit group had become. It had taken them losing the one most would call their less important member for their company to scatter. Percival had died at the hands of his captors. And now Gwen, the Queen, was facing the pyre.

It seemed like their group's good luck had ran out. Ran _away_ to be more precise.

All that had taken was for Merlin to leave them.

He could barely see the dark form of the King slamming his sword madly against a fallen tree trunk.

"If you keep this up, you'll ruin a perfectly good sword. George would be very disappointed!" he called, his voice loud as to reach the King.

Arthur paused, until Gwaine had caught up with him. He started hitting the wood once more. Pieces of the bark flew right and left, the sword's blade cutting deep into the trunk without any hindrance.

"It would seem that this sword has some kind of… magic in it. George says Percival saw it _affect_ Morgana, said it was our only hope. Look," he paused, bringing the blade close to the knight so that he could see it even in the half light.

"Touch the edge if you dare. It's perfectly sharp. Any other sword would be dull by now. Not this one though," the king said tightly.

Despite his calm appearance, Gwaine was pretty sure Arthur was on the verge of another meltdown.

The King put his sword on his belt.

"Gaius says Merlin did something to it. Made it stronger, _invincible_," he added before starting to head back to their headquarters, meaning Gaius' friend's hut.

Gwaine followed him closely. "That is good news, isn't it?" he asked, trying to distract him.

Arthur's reply was cold. "I don't know Gwaine, is it? You tell me," he stopped in his tracks and turned to glare at the knight.

_Here we go…_

"You tell me what am I supposed to do, when my own _sister_ gives me three days to surrender to my execution, or else she will _kill my wife_. Oh, and I forgot the small matter of her having taken my Kingdom and locked up my men, _killing_ them one by one as it turns out!" he hissed, the pain evident in his voice.

Gwaine couldn't blame him, not for one moment. He too had mourned his fallen companion. Though Percival was a warrior, always living a life of risk, facing death on a daily basis. The strange thing was that Gwaine found himself feeling more distraught by Merlin's absence than by the news of his fellow knight's death. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that Percival had died in the hands of an enemy, in a way that many of their other comrades had fallen before. And for that reason, there was honor to be found in his death. Ultimately, he had sacrificed his life for the kingdom. Later, they would be able to pay tribute to that and remember him for the hero he was.

But Merlin, the way he had left, the reasons he had, there was no honour in that. At least not on their parts. And it was unsettling, knowing that in a time like that, when Kingdoms fall and friends perish, Merlin, one of Gwaine's best friends, wasn't with them. He knew that the sorcerer was probably somewhere far safer than where they were, but the thought of him somewhere so far away, forever turning his back to them, still made the knight's heart clench.

Arthur was breathing hard, his eyes shut tightly. They stood there like that, quiet and still, for many minutes. Eventually, Gwaine answered the question his King had asked.

"You need to pull yourself together, Arthur. We have no time for anything else."

* * *

His heart was racing, his head pounding. Cold sweat was running on the back of his head, his arms, his chest. His eyes were unable to focus for a few moments. Darkness.

He was inside his chambers. His _new_ chambers, in the castle of Ostia.

The dream had come again. Only, this time, something was different.

The forms of his long lost loved ones had been but mere shadows this time. Grey ghosts that faded away like the mist after a storm. But the faces of the people he had left behind came this time more vivid than ever, surrounding him completely, accusing him, haunting him. Gwen's silent weeping, Arthur's eyes that were dead and unrelenting, Morgana's laughter, cold and sharp, all these were tearing his fragile state of mind into tinny shreds. And, as if from somewhere far away, a soft voice, a striking contrast with everything else, was calling him.

_Emrys…_

_Come, Emrys... _

_Come and see, Emrys…_

_It's time for you to see… _

He found himself out of bed and getting dressed before he really had time to think about it. This dream, it had been different, more disturbing somehow.

He was out of the castle in a matter of minutes, riding into the night, towards the druid settlement, and then, the tunnels, where he could get some peace of mind, hopefully.

It wouldn't really matter if he looked one time, would it? Just for his mind to be appeased, to see that they were all perfectly fine, nothing to worry about.

_And even if they weren't why should you be bothered? _ he heard a voice in his head, reminding him. _It was you who left them._

_Yes, but when I left them they were perfectly safe…_ he retorted.

This talking to himself business was starting to get a little out of hand.

Merlin thought about what he would most likely see. At this time of the night, Arthur would be retired in his chambers, probably with Gwen -_I really don't need to see that-_. Gwaine would be at the Rising Sun, probably drinking with the others, Gaius would have finished his rounds and gotten to bed.

Nothing in their life would had changed now that he was away. He hadn't really been that important to them, not any more. Perhaps only Gaius would be missing him. Or had Arthur already found him a new apprentice? _Maybe_ _George is filling in once more?_

When he reached the entrance of the tunnels, he secured his horse's reins on a tree and walked inside.

Most of the inhabitants were most likely asleep. Still, Merlin didn't want to be disturbed, so he made his way as silently as possible, glad he had chosen to wear the dark grey cloak Lucan had gifted him the day before. He reached the smaller unlit path easily.

When he entered the small round room where the Window of the World lay, he wasn't surprised to see the little druid girl from before standing on the opposite side.

She lifted her small hand pointing towards the still water.

Merlin walked until he could clearly see his own reflection, the faint light emanating from the bottom of the basin creating odd angles upon his face.

"It is time, Emrys. Now, see," the girl whispered softly. In the absolute silence of the night, her voice lingered in the air.

The spell came to his mind like it had been there all along.

"_**Diegol cnytte, gewitte me yst, **__**íewan me**__** Camelot."**_

In the water, the light started to fade. Suddenly, an image of the castle appeared in the calm surface. Merlin recognized it as the throne room. It was dark, no one was there at that hour of the night. Merlin felt his mind easing. All seemed to be as he had left them.

Then, suddenly, the image changed. It showed a dark room, on the top of one of the towers. Inside, two figures where hugging closely, one clearly trying to comfort the other. And then the crying figure raised their head, and all of Merlin's blood run cold because it was the image from his dream. It was Gwen _crying_, and Mithian holding her in her arms. Frantically, Merlin's mind focused on Arthur and his whereabouts. The water shifted and the image changed, and Arthur appeared sitting with Gaius, Elyan and Leon at a table, seeming engrossed deep in serious conversation. And when the King got up and walked away from the others, his eyes were the eyes that had been haunting him in his sleep. The eyes of a man _dead_.

The image changed one more time and showed Morgana sitting in Arthur's chair, in the King's chambers, reading something looking like a book. But when Merlin tried to focus closer to her, her head snapped up and her eyes fell exactly upon his own.

He reacted on reflex and shot a hand inside the basin, disturbing the surface. The image disappeared and he felt the spell disperse.

He took a step back, his eyes fixed on the water. He couldn't believe what he had just witnessed. Though he knew, deep down, he had suspected his dreams might have been something more than nightmares.

Morgana had taken over Camelot.

* * *

A/N: Alright people, Merlin knows now! I will ask you once more not to jump into rush conclusions…

Please leave a review, I really like to hear what you think of it.

:D


	13. Chapter 12: To make the right decision

A/N: I can't express how sorry I am for making all of you wait _this_ long for this chapter. I had said to many reviewers that I would actually update sooner this time, but alas, my bad luck got in the way. My laptop broke down not 3 days after I posted the previous chapter and I had to send it for service. I only got it back two days ago... Since then, I've been writing almost nonstop.

I hope you find this chapter worth the long wait. It's certainly long enough :P

I literally didn't sleep last night because I've been up writing this. I may be sleep deprived right now, but I feel quite pleased with myself…

Enjoy!

* * *

**Chapter 12: To make the right decision**

"Come, you should try to get some sleep," Mithian said, touching the Queen's shoulders gently. Gwen was standing by the window, her gaze fixed somewhere on the dark, starless sky.

When she didn't respond, the princess squeezed her lightly. Startled, Guinevere turned to her, her wide eyes staring questioningly.

Mithian's heart clenched at the sight. At that moment, Gwen looked so tired, so vulnerable. Her once warm eyes were glassy, filled with unshed tears. A terrible burden weighed down her thin, delicate shoulders and Mithian could see it clearly then, how close to breaking down the woman in front of her really was. Because Guinevere Pendragon wasn't just a Queen seeing her Kingdom conquered. She was a wife and a friend, worrying and mourning. And now she also had the threat of an imminent execution hanging over her head.

Letting out a deep sigh, the princess of Nemeth enveloped the other woman in her arms and held her there tightly. She could hear Gwen's breath faltering, almost turning into silent sobbing. Trying to ease her friend's distress, Mithian ran her fingers through Gwen's loose curls in a calming caress.

They stayed like that for some time, holding each other in silence. Mithian could understand the Queen needed that, a solid, comforting presence. Gwen was clearly desperate to have someone to ground her, give her consolation especially now, when all hopes of salvation seemed so distant. Impossible.

She needed Mithian to hold on to, in order not to fall into the darkness of despair.

Gwen's head lifted slightly, her hands coming up to wipe away the tears she had shed in her moment of weakness. Mithian offered her a small smile in return.

"Go lie down, Gwen. Rest…" Mithian offered again, but Gwen just shook her head in denial.

"It is impossible for me to even _think_ of sleeping right now, let alone do it…" she replied, sounding almost apologetic. "Sit with me by the fire?" she asked Mithian, while making for the small armchairs resting near the fireplace.

Mithian followed swiftly. A few moments passed, and then Gwen spoke once more.

"When I was little," she began, sounding surer but keeping her tone low, private, "me and my brother, Elyan, loved to sit near the hearth at our old house, listening to the stories our mother would tell us. They were fairy tales mostly. But she had such a soothing, calming voice. Whenever I think of home, of family, my mind immediately travels to those precious childhood memories."

Mithian could only nod. She could see Gwen was already better, but she couldn't be sure it would last. In her state, even a bad memory, a sad thought, would be enough to make her crumble once again.

"I think it's at times like _these_, when I miss my parents the most. And especially her. She was always so _strong_…"

Mithian took her hand in her palms then, affectively stopping her.

"So are you, Gwen. You are strong, just like her," she said looking the other woman in the eye. The Queen didn't respond, but neither did she refuse the Princess' claims.

"So, why don't you tell _me _a story then, your Majesty…" Mithian suggested, smiling. "Something happy. Please?"

When Gwen's lips curled up, Mithian knew she had succeeded in her mission of lightening up the Queen's mood. She nodded, almost shyly, and took a deep breath readying herself.

"Something happy…" she repeated after Mithian. "Perhaps a love story?"

The Princess scrunched her nose at that, feigning disgust. "No, none of _those_, please… How about a funny one, instead?"

The Queen looked pensive, obviously searching her mind for a suitable tale, and then a warm smile dawned on her features.

When she started speaking it was about a young peasant boy and how he had been foolish and brave enough to challenge a bully knight on his first day in Camelot, only to end up in the stocks, being hit on the head with various vegetables by a crowd of giggling children.

It was half way through the story, from the way Gwen's eyes lit up, when she referred to the young boy's surprising courage and kindness, that Mithian realized who the hero of the story really was. And the Princess' heart warmed at the thought of a disheveled Merlin being manhandled by a younger -_prattier_- Arthur, but still too stubborn to admit defeat.

"You know, I used to have a crush on Merlin, back then…" Gwen said her, lifting an eyebrow suggestively.

Mithian failed to hide her surprise at that. "Really?"

The Queen smiled at her friend's reaction. In the dim light coming from the low burning fireplace, Mithian saw a blush spreading on Gwen's face.

"Yes. It was a long time ago. I don't know… I guess he was sweet and kind. Brave in his way. And well… he's kind of cute too. I was infatuated. At the time, I could only imagine myself ending up with a normal, ordinary man. A baker, a farmer. A servant. Make a happy little family, like my parents had. Merlin of course never had a clue."

For a moment, Mithian allowed herself to imagine Merlin, the clever and loyal manservant she had met on her time in Camelot, married to the beautiful and gentle Guinevere. How different all their lives would have been.

She shook her head. Things had gone down a completely different path. Though if it had been for the best, that remained to be seen. For the moment, her mind would concentrate on making Guinevere forget her troubles, even if it was for a little while.

"Are you telling me Arthur wasn't always your Prince Charming?" she teased, trying to change the subject away from potentially painful thoughts of Merlin.

That got a burst of laughter from the Queen.

"God, no! Back then Arthur was just awful! Insensitive, a bully, a nightmare really… I used to pity the woman he would marry! But, with time, he _changed_… Though, I think this is one more thing we have mainly Merlin to thank for," she trailed off, lowering her eyes.

The princess just hummed in agreement, aware of the sudden change in Gwen's mood and not daring to press it any longer. From what Mithian knew of Merlin, and what she had seen especially during her first visit in Camelot, he must have been the main reason for Arthur's improvement, in both mind and attitude. Though she also was sure Guinevere herself played a quite a part too. She could understand now how deep both the King's and the Queen's pain must have been when Merlin left them. To learn that a person so close to you, so important, had been not who you thought them to be. And then to be unable to talk to them, to be deprived of their chance of absolution…

Gwen obviously had a high opinion of Merlin, even before learning how much he had really done for them all. But Mithian knew the Queen felt guilty for failing to see the truth behind the mask. For not understanding sooner _just how_ very important Merlin had been to all of them, even without his magic. Because she had thought of him as ordinary, when he was the exact opposite.

"I'm tired…" Gwen's strangely flat voice cut through Mithian's thoughts.

_Yes… you look tired too, my friend._

"Sleep then, Gwen," she replied, her voice almost a whisper. She waited until she heard the shuffling of the bed covers, before she let out a small sigh.

"Mithian…" she heard Gwen ask in a hushed tone. Getting up from her seat, she approached the lying figure on the bed. Curled under the blankets, Guinevere looked so small and fragile.

The Queen's eyes were almost completely shut when she whispered.

"Promise me you'll take care of yourself when I'm… After all this is done."

Something inside Mithian hardened at the suggestion. Feelings of fear, pain and protectiveness swarmed inside her and she kneeled beside the bed, taking Gwen's hand in her own.

"Don't even _say_ that…"

Gwen opened her eyes and looked at her, solemn but firm.

"No. _Promise me_, Mithian. Morgana is… she has gone mad… And I've seen the way _that man_ looks at you whenever he is here. Promise me you'll be careful, you won't do anything reckless…"

The Princess lowered her head. She hadn't thought about her situation at all these past hours. Not when her friend was facing the pyre.

Why did everything have to be so difficult?

"Sleep, Gwen…" she responded, resting her head on the bedside near the troubled Queen. The floor beneath her was cold, but that didn't matter to her at all.

_Who knows what tomorrow might bring… _

* * *

Arthur surveyed the people gathered around him, feeling a tight clench deep in his gut at the thought of the impossible task they meant to accomplish. How many of them would not survive their endeavors? How many would end up sacrificing themselves, all under his leadership, following his orders.

How the thought distressed him. It wasn't the first time something similar to this had ever happened, but still, even after having the thought imprinted on his mind through countless repetition by first his father and then his advisors, he wasn't at all comfortable with the fact that people would gladly die for him.

He knew this was how it was supposed to go. He had to accept it many times in the past years, even more so since he had risen into his kingly status. But he didn't like it, nor did he think he ever could.

His companions were scattered around the small, and now quite crowded room, talking in low voices. On their faces Arthur could read a weird mix of emotions, not very unlike what he too was experiencing. They all looked solemn but focused, balancing between determination and resignation, but never losing their nerve. An air of anticipation emanated from his most trusted knights. All of them looked grim, still recovering from the recent news of Sir Percival's death. But there was a gleam in their eyes too. A cold promise of vengeance. It was one more reason for them to fight, to the death even, so that they could have the chance to punish the people that took down one of their own.

Arthur searched his mind, trying to get his thoughts in order before he addressed the others. He never remembered it being so difficult before. It was hardly the first time he had to deal with a crisis, come up with a plan that wasn't going to get them all killed and actually executing it. He wondered why was and immediately his mind provided him with the simple answer to his question.

This was the first time he didn't have Merlin there to guide him through what he should do.

It was now that he had lost him that he fully realized how much he had come to rely upon him, especially on the hardest of choices.

But this was necessary, Arthur reminded himself. _This is how it must be. I must learn to be my own man. _

Thinking of Merlin always led him down the same path of remorse, and so it was, for one final brief moment, that Arthur allowed himself to feel ashamed for his actions towards his best friend. To remember how he had rewarded Merlin's invaluable assistance and loyalty with nothing but snide remarks and degrading insults. _Because that was the way their relationship worked…_

A fleeting thought came to him then. Perhaps this was what he deserved, for disregarding his friend, for failing to give him value. Perhaps this was the price he had to pay for his mistakes.

No more room for these thoughts any more.

Now, we act.

"Alator," Arthur called, causing all the others to cease their conversations as well and face him. The man in question turned to him, raising an eyebrow in question. "I realize now I haven't properly thanked you for saving my life. Thank you," he offered, and the sorcerer nodded once.

Arthur knew he had to be careful now. Much depended on how he would approach this still rather delicate subject.

"What I'm about to say is something I have considered very carefully and I am confident it is the right thing to do. While asking you this, I fully recognize that you are under no obligation to comply. You don't owe me or Camelot anything. If anything we owe you an apology. For hunting you and those like you down. So, I ask you now, Alator of the Catha, are you willing to do it once more? Will you aid us in our fight against Morgana in our endeavor to retake Camelot?"

Arthur paused briefly as something strange flashed inside the sorcerer's eyes. Beside him, Gaius fidgeted nervously.

Ignoring the reaction and determined to finish what he had set to say, Arthur continued.

"All I have to offer you now, either you choose to see it as a reward or as a way to make amends, is a promise. The promise that, if we succeed, things in Camelot will change for people with magic, people like you. I realize I could very well be dead by tomorrow night, but I _swear _to you that, if I survive, I will see to it that magic returns to the land."

_It is only logical after all, in light of the recent events_…

As he let his words sink in, Arthur turned to see the others' reactions. He wasn't sure what he had expected, perhaps someone to object or claim he had been enchanted -more out of a habit than anything else really-, but all he got was steady eyes and firm nods of consent all around. Even George, whose presence amongst them had been almost as much a surprise as Merlin being a sorcerer, looked strangely accepting of the fact that the King of Camelot had just given his word to end the years long persecution of magic.

Alator was looking at Arthur with piercing eyes, and the King felt at that moment that he was being judged. And then, the other man's lips curled upwards, his head bowing slightly and he spoke.

"I have already swore my allegiance to Emrys, King Arthur. But I believe that aiding you and your companions in your fight against Morgana and the darkness she represents is in no way going against my oath. I will be _glad_ to fight by your side."

Seeing the change in Alator's features, the way he looked at him with calm determination and what Arthur could only describe as hope, the King let himself celebrate his small victory.

Even then, though, something deep inside him was nagging him, telling him again and again that it should have been _Merlin_ fighting by his side, and not some random sorcerer. Still, Arthur was very much aware that things couldn't be that way_. _

_Not yet anyway. Someday perhaps, if I'm worthy_…

But he also knew that the odds were hardly in their favor, what with Morgana not only being a sorceress, but having an actual small army at her disposal as well. All he had was a company of few- _loyal-_ men.

If one of them was a sorcerer then their chances would improve somewhat.

Small steps, he thought to himself.

"Well then, now that this is behind us, let's go straight to the matter at hand," he announced. Everyone agreed, so soon they were all sitting around the simple table, ready to start planning.

They were all Arthur had. From servants and advisors, to sorcerers and warriors. Gaius, Alator, the sorcerer's companion whose name Arthur had learned was Taur, the knights, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Lamorak and Brenn, and finally George.

He spoke.

"By now, you all know of the news Sir Brenn and George brought us. Of Morgana's _threat_. This means one thing and one thing only. Our deadline is closing in. I believe you all agree with me when I say there is no point in trying to ask other Kingdom's for help. Simply because there is no time. Even if our allies, like Nemeth or Carleon, were willing to come to our aid, they are bound to arrive too late."

The others agreed with him grimly. Arthur had even considered backing up on his decision not to ask Merlin's assistance for a few, desperate moments. But he knew that even if he did try to find him, it would take more time than Guinevere ever had.

"Morgana has shown herself ruthless," Arthur continued. "I have no doubt that, if we don't act, then tomorrow night she'll make good of her threat. I also believe that after that, there will be nothing to stop her from killing the rest of her prisoners as well. George's report suggests that she has become even more irrational and unpredictable since our escape. I believe her capable of anything…"

The word lingered in the air though no one had outright spoke it. Mad.

Morgana had lost her mind.

"It is up to us to stop her," he stated. They didn't have another choice. No matter how impossible, it needed to be done. The alternative was simply unacceptable.

Sir Elyan was the one to speak next. "I believe, Sire, that our greatest disadvantage is numbers. We know she has magic on her side, with a magical creature and Alined's sorcerer to add to her own powers, but then so do we. It is her Bloodguard and those mercenaries we have to find a way to defeat," he finished.

Arthur agreed with him. "And Alined's knights. Don't forget those…" the King added, his voice cold as he spoke the name of the other conspirator. His so called 'ally'. Though, in hindsight, that particular betrayal was something he should have been expecting.

Gaius, who had been silent until then, spoke. "Remember Sire, that _you too_ have an army. From what I've heard, Camelot's knights are locked inside the dungeons."

Of course Arthur remembered his men. But he followed the old physician's train of thoughts easily. "What you say is if we succeed in breaking them out, our numbers are a lot closer to Morgana's…" he pointed. "George, how many man would you say Morgana has guarding the prisoners? I recall seeing only a few guards and that Golem creature…"

The servant gulped but looked him in the eye as he answered the question, his voice almost completely straight.

"Indeed, Sire, that _was_ the case until recently…. The last time I was visiting the dungeons, though, some of the knights had caused a disturbance, ending up wounding a couple of guards. After that, she had ordered to double the guard. And that b-beast, it remains there, as far as I know…"

As the servant trailed of, Sir Leon seemed to have come up with an idea. "If I may speak so, Sire," he asked, sounding excited enough to intrigue Arthur. "I think that this ultimatum she has given us… it could be used _against_ her."

Arthur urged him to go on.

"Well, we know that tomorrow night she has planned an execution, a pyre. She will probably be expecting you to show up and not alone. Though she says you must surrender, I believe she expects you to put up a fight. So it is logical to assume Morgana will have most of her army there _with_ her in order to stop and arrest you. She knows now that you have magical help, she won't underestimate you again…"

Arthur's mind reeled thinking this through. It might actually work…

Sir Gwaine's confused "So…?" brought the King back. Promptly, he got up from his sear and started pacing, thinking. No one spoke, leaving the knight's question unanswered. Finally, after a few long moments, Arthur's voice filled the growing silence.

"So, Sir Gwaine, _that_ leaves the dungeons vulnerable. If Morgana has all her army with her, then who is left guarding the prisoners?" he provided.

The knight's eyes widened as he realized what that meant.

"But how would we even make it there?" he asked, but it was evident he too thought they were getting close to a plan.

Arthur was getting more confident each moment that passed. "Our dear friend George has already solved this problem!" he all but exclaimed, feeling satisfaction as the plan formed slowly inside his mind. "Through the _new_ siege tunnels. I made sure all the old exits were build in, but I also had a new tunnel system designed. One of the new entrances to the castle is through the dungeons. It is impossible for anyone to find it if they don't have either a map or instructions. I'm sure Morgana has no idea of its existence. We can sneak inside through there."

Gaius frowned. "For this plan to actually work, you must coordinate your attack with the execution. Venture a few hours earlier and you could find too many guards posted there for you to succeed. And do not forget, Sire, that the Stone Golem could very well be there. Even a magic user like Alator could face serious difficulty in defeating that creature."

Of course Arthur hadn't forgotten that. Their best chance to infiltrate was when his wife's life would be most at stake. Unless…

A thought passed through his head. It was risky, but it could work. Though the possibility of the Stone Golem still guarding the tunnels could be an obstacle.

"How about my sword, Gaius? Could it destroy the monster?" he asked.

The physician seemed to consider his answer for a moment. When he spoke next, he sounded like he was using his words carefully.

"Your sword, Arthur, was created so that it could slain what was already dead. A Golem is a creature of magic, one that is neither alive nor dead. It could, perhaps, harm it, but I cannot say with certainty. As I have already mentioned, the only weapons able to destroy it as far as I know are blunt weapons."

So Arthur's 'special' sword could very well be useless against it.

He had instructed Sir Lamorak the previous evening to search for some blunt weapons in the village. The King turned to his knight expectantly.

"I have managed to gather a couple of maces and three hammers from the villagers. Not war hammers, that is, but given the circumstances… There are also a few young men that expressed their desire to join you, Sire."

Arthur accepted that with ease. He never expected anything more.

"It'll have to do. As for the villagers who want to help, we will see. If they can use a weapon, then I can't see why not." Even George had insisted he would fight by their side.

Elyan shifted in his seat anxiously. He turned at Arthur, looking troubled.

"Arthur," he said in a low, serious tone. "Say we do wait until the time of Gwen's… _execution_ to attempt to rescue our fellow knights. That still leaves Gwen alone against Morgana. What if we are too late? What if something alerts Morgana of our whereabouts? Gwen is entirely defenseless…"

Arthur turned to him, feeling sure that this was the right thing to do.

"No… She won't be," he said, raising his voice as to be heard by all.

"All of you, including Alator, will be going to the dungeons to free the knights, but I won't. I will go to the courtyard alone. I'll surrender to Morgana."

"_What_? Have you lost your mind? Arthur, that is _crazy_!" Gwaine exclaimed, clearly expressing the opinion of most of his companions as well.

Seeing them all ready to object to his decision, Arthur raised his hand to stop them all.

"No, it's not," he said pointedly looking at every one of them. "It is the only plan that could possibly work. It is the perfect diversion. If Morgana thinks I surrendered, then Gwen will be out of danger, at least directly. I will go to Morgana, try to distract her, even talk to her if I can, do anything to buy some time until you and the knights come to our rescue. I will be carrying my sword with me," he paused as another, darker thought crossed his mind.

"Alator," he asked the sorcerer, "is there something you could do to make me able to resist a magical attack from her, even for a small amount of time? If what Percival said to George was true… Then perhaps I might even have the chance to finish this, once and for all."

His sharp tone surprised even himself. But as he was speaking, Arthur knew he believed what he said. If he had the opportunity to strike the witch down, he would take it.

"There _is_ something I could do, a potion. It would give you some protection, but not much. And not for long…" the sorcerer said warningly.

Gaius's tried to reason with him. "Arthur, _please_ think this through. What you're suggesting, it's too dangerous. It's practically a suicide mission," he pointed out.

The King looked at his companions. Each and every one of them was special in his own way.

He smiled.

"I have faith in all of you. You'll make it in time."

It was the ever worrying Leon that insisted he shouldn't go alone. "Please, Sire. At least let one of us come with you."

Arthur had thought of that, but it couldn't work."After what happened at my execution, I doubt Morgana will allow any of Camelot's citizens to be present at Guinevere's. So there wouldn't be anywhere you could hide. No. I must go alone."

He knew his plan wasn't perfect. He knew all these days in prison would likely have left his men weak, exhausted. But time was running out and too much was at stake.

They had less than a day to prepare for what was looking like one of the most difficult fights in the history of Camelot.

* * *

She was pacing back and forth inside her almost completely wrecked chambers. King Alined had never in his life been more glad that he had decided to have his guards with him as he was now, when he visited the Queen of Camelot.

"My Lady," he said, trying to sound casual. She stopped abruptly, her cold gaze falling hard on the other royal.

"You… asked to see me?" he provided, seeing she wasn't about to say anything.

Her eyes lit up in recognition, and then she was coming towards him, her face filled with a fury that sent chills down the King's spine.

"He is _coming for me_, Alined," she said as soon as she was standing right in front of him. Now that she was close, the King saw how dark shadows loomed under her eyes, the untamed state her hair was in. She had been up all night, most likely doing exactly what he had interrupted her doing.

"_Emrys_, " she spat the name like venom. "I _saw_ him. I know it was him. He helped Arthur escape and now he is hunting me…" she finished, bringing her hands to clasp at her hair in desperation.

Fear started coiling inside the King's soul. _She has finally gone mad._

She turned to him again, looking distant and dangerous. "Tomorrow, if he comes, we will be ready," she stated, gesturing to both herself and the other King. "I want you, your knights and that sorcerer of yours to stand by me at _sweet_ Guinevere's execution. If Emrys comes, no, _when_ he comes, he'll have to face an entire army, magical and otherwise…"

Alined didn't hesitate to answer even for one second.

"Of course, my lady. We will be there…" he said, and quickly got out of the Queen's chambers. Trickler was waiting for him outside.

They walked to the visiting King's quarters in silence. Alined was seething inside.

Siding with Morgana Pendragon was proving to be more precarious than he had ever thought. And tomorrow, they would have to be extremely careful.

All the lands of Camelot would be worthless to him if he ended up dead by the mad witch's hand.

* * *

A quick knock on his door was all the warning Merlin got before Lucan burst in his room, Declan following behind him as always.

"Good, you are already dressed!" the Prince exclaimed happily as he approached the warlock in a few strides. Merlin was sitting behind his small desk, pensive, and didn't respond.

The warlock felt the moment when Prince Lucan realized that something was amiss. It was as if the temperature in the room dropped suddenly and tension rose up in its stead. Merlin turned to look upon the other man, who was now hovering above him looking uncertain.

He sighed inwardly. This would was going to be difficult.

Lucan, perhaps recognizing Merlin's internal struggle frowned. "Merlin…" he began, sounding so completely different than mere moments ago.

"Is something wrong…?" he asked carefully.

Behind the Prince, Declan had paused by the entrance, not knowing if he should come in or not. Merlin gestured for him to enter, and he close the door behind him.

As soon as they were behind closed doors, Merlin got up and started pacing slowly, aware of the growing alarm in both the other men.

_Where do I even start? _

He let out a deep breath. Stopping his nervous pacing, he began.

"Last night, I visited the Window of the World," he said, and the gasp from the Prince told Merlin that Lucan too knew of the rare artifact and of its purpose.

Indeed, his suspicions were confirmed when Lucan, sounding almost completely lost, uttered.

"You went… You _saw?_ Was it because of the dreams…?" he asked, obviously struggling to make sense of what Merlin was trying to tell them.

The warlock could only nod.

"What I saw… I saw Camelot, Lucan. And as for my dreams… they were true. Morgana is alive and she has taken over the kingdom. _Again_…" he said flatly.

Lucan looked torn between shock and incredulity. Merlin couldn't actually blame him. This was getting rather ridiculous…

"But… how?" Lucan asked eventually. "I don't understand… she was dead."

_If only I had a gold coin for every time I thought Morgana dead I'd have been a rich man by now…_

"It's not important how. King Alined was probably lying. And this time, I wasn't there to get in the way." As he spoke, Merlin was aware that he was bound to sound bitter and perhaps a bit egoistical too. But that didn't make it any less true.

Suddenly, Lucan's face turned white. "What… what now?" he asked. His voice came toneless when he moved to what he had obviously concluded.

"You are going back there, aren't you?"

The only thing Merlin could do then, seeing Lucan's obvious despair was give a short and honest answer.

"I have to…" he said, aware of how painful even this small phrase must have been for Lucan to hear.

"No, you _don't_!" the Prince exploded. He grabbed Merlin by the shoulders, shaking him hard. Declan had moved to intercept him, but backed off after Merlin shot him a look, letting him know he had it all under control.

Lucan's distress was clear as he continued, all but shouting to the warlock.

"Why _should_ you save them again, Merlin? Why should you risk your life again for those people? Let King Arthur see what it's like to do something on his own for a change! Let him rot, let_ all of them rot!_"

Merlin didn't answer him, but looked him steadily in the eye. The Prince though still seething, let go of the younger man. Merlin didn't move away from him, though. Instead he placed a comforting hand on the other man's shoulder. Lucan flinched but didn't move from the touch.

Declan, who was now standing right beside the pair saw an opportunity to talk to his hurting friend.

"You don't mean that, Lucan. Not really…" he said.

Lucan didn't even turn to acknowledge him. Instead he looked at Merlin pleadingly.

"Please…It's just… It's not fair… You _just_ got here and now you are leaving. You don't owe them anything Merlin, I thought you had already accepted that. You said you would move on. So… _why_?"

Merlin truly wanted to make Lucan understand, to have him see things the way the warlock saw them. This, going back, was necessary for Merlin.

Just like leaving Camelot in the first place had been. Now he needed to go back. If not for Arthur, or Gwen or Camelot, then for Morgana.

He _needed_ to face Morgana.

"Lucan, please listen to me. I've spend all night thinking about what I should do. Perhaps to an extend you are right. One of my reasons for leaving Camelot -leaving _Arthur_- behind was that I felt _used_. And when I left, I knew deep down that times would come when Camelot or it's King would have to face danger and they would have to do it without me. I had accepted that, still do."

He could see how his words started to calm Lucan's raging mind. The expression on the Princes' face had lost its desperate element, giving it's place to resignation and bewilderment.

"But you must understand this, my friend, it isn't _just a foe_ that they are facing. It's Morgana."

"I had always thought that it had been Morgana's fault, her choices and decisions that had turned my old friend into this vengeful monster that she is now. Though, I'm not so sure I really ever believed that. But last night, it finally dawned on me what it was that always stroke me as false in my previous logic. It was the fact that it had all been built upon the principal that the Great Dragon was telling me the truth. Almost from the very beginning, it had been him that told me she would turn evil. Just like he had insisted that Arthur was my destiny, he insisted that she was bound to become my greatest enemy too. It had been because of his words that I could never really trust her, that I didn't really help her, not when she needed me the most, and that I ultimately tried to kill her. What if it had all been lies? What if there _was_ another way?"

He saw that both Lucan and Declan were deeply in concern, finally hearing the logic in his words. Because Merlin was using Lucan's assumptions, _his_ arguments, to make his own point.

Glad that he was finally getting through to them, he continued. "I have accepted for some time now that the Morgana I knew and cared about as a friend is long gone. Instead, she has become a heartless, cold creature, set on one goal. Revenge. She wants to make others suffer."

He closed his eyes, feeling tired.

"It's _my fault_. Maybe not entirely but a large portion of the blame lies on my shoulders. Where Uther betrayed her by not accepting her for who she is, I did it by believing the word of a dragon over the actions and needs of a friend. This Morgana, she is my doing. My mess. That is why I can't stay. That is why I have to go back."

_And for them. You want to go back to save them. You're just too much of a coward to admit it._

Lucan, who had sat down at one point during Merlin's speech, was completely silent and still, absorbing what Merlin had said.

Declan on the other hand had recovered a lot faster.

"When are you leaving exactly, Merlin? And where will you go… _How_ will you get there? It is a full four days ride from Ostia to Camelot, provided the weather is on your side and you don't come across any trouble during the journey…" he stopped abruptly, his expression changing from concerned to knowing.

"That's what you wanted the toad's blood for, wasn't it? But you asked for it before you even…" he said, and Merlin felt the accusation in his tone, even if there hadn't really been any. It was more of an instinct that had lead him to that particular spell, written on the last pages of his new magic book. When he asked for the ingredients, he told himself it was just for experimentation. Now, he was willing to admit there might have been other forces at work there.

_Destiny_, a small voice sounded in his mind.

"You want to _teleport_ to Camelot?" Declan concluded.

Before he had time to reply, he heard Lucan's voice once more, now small and almost helpless.

"No…" the Prince said, and Merlin felt the desperation in his tone speak to him.

"If you have to go, then please take me with you. _Please_…" he asked, raising his brown eyes to meet the warlock's.

Merlin could read between the lines. What Lucan really wanted to say, what scared him so.

_If you go alone, you won't come back._

Perhaps he was being unfair though. From the first moment he met him, Lucan had always wanted what's best for Merlin. He was probably afraid for him too.

The warlock took a moment to think things through. Would it be that bad if Lucan went with him to Camelot? After all, the _only_ reason he was going back was to fight Morgana, wasn't it? If that was the case then Lucan could provide help. He could fight, perhaps not as good as Arthur but still.

"It's alright, Lucan. I would be honored if you chose to come with me…" he said finally, and he really meant it.

The other man let out a deep sigh, closing his eyes in relief. Declan chose that moment to inform them both that there was no way he would stay behind.

"We should be thankful you have power enough to teleport all three of us, my lad..." he pointed in the end.

_There is always that other option_, Merlin thought briefly. But he really didn't want to think about it, especially now. Merlin had decided he would deal with _the dragon_ when he would feel he was ready.

And he had always wanted to try teleportation.

"So, when do we leave for the beautiful Camelot?" the Druid asked, trying to lighten the still bleak atmosphere that surrounded them.

"As soon as the spell is ready, I would say. And we won't go to Camelot just yet. I need to have more information about what happened. And we _will_ need some help to succeed."

Lucan had risen and was slowly heading for the exit, probably to go get ready, when he stopped after hearing that last comment.

"Where are we going then?" the Prince asked, turning to see the warlock.

Merlin winced. Lucan wasn't going to like this, he was certain of it.

"In the Window I saw that Arthur and some of the knights have managed to escape from Morgana's grasp. They seemed to be gathered inside a hut or a small house. A village. And since Gaius was there with them, I think I know exactly where they are. It's a small village called Herdsdale. That's where we're going."

The other man stiffened at the mention of the King of Camelot. Merlin could realize that, perhaps, Lucan was feeling threatened. He was afraid he would be abandoned. That Merlin would choose to stay with Arthur again, that he would change his mind.

Seeing the Prince of Ostia standing there, looking so lost and scared, all because of the thought that he would lose Merlin, the warlock couldn't help but compare him with Arthur, the master he had left behind.

And just the _memory_ of the last time he had seen Arthur - the one that Merlin had tried so hard to completely suppress and forget- of how completely different and cold he had appeared, was enough for Merlin to decide.

"I promise you, no matter what happens in Camelot, I will be by your side when you'll be returning to Ostia…" he told the Prince, and in all his life, he hadn't given an oath he wanted to keep more than this one.

* * *

After their morning meeting ended, everyone had gone to perform some task or necessary preparation for their upcoming fight. The knights were sitting outside of the hut, taking care of their weapons, both old and new, while Arthur himself was out in the fields close by, helping the four young men that had volunteered –_and George_- to prepare for the battle.

Gaius and Alator were working on the potion for Arthur, gathering some herbs –whatever was left this close to winter- in another small field not very far from where the King and his 'students' were practicing their swordfight.

Arthur was in the middle of demonstrating how to properly block an attack from the side, using George as the training dummy, something that caused a frequent bout of laughter from his knights who were watching from a distance, when he realized that something was different.

He stopped mid- motion, his head turning to face the top of the hill as if guided by some higher, unknown force.

The others around him followed his gaze curiously.

Then he saw it. A whirlwind, starting small and then growing in both size and power, blowing leaves and dirt towards all directions.

And then, three forms appeared inside the blur. And before Arthur had time to try and make out who they were, the wind died down, revealing the men's identities.

But Arthur's mind had gone blank.

He was dreaming. He must have been dreaming. There was no other explanation. Or perhaps he had finally gone mad, and it was all a hallucination.

As the figures started walking towards him, Arthur's logic failed, seeing the fear and astonishment written on the faces of the village lads and the completely dumfounded expression on George's face.

_They are seeing this as well_, he thought.

_It's real._

_**He**__ is real. _

The world spinned around Arthur, as he realized that in the span of a moment, everything had changed completely. He blinked and when he saw that the image before him remained the same, he finally believed it.

"Merlin…" he said, and for the first time in what seemed like ages, Arthur felt complete once again.

* * *

A/N: And then, they saw each other again. I had goosebumps when I wrote the last part.

I've been waiting for this moment for _so long!_ I can't tell you how excited the prospect of writing the next chapter makes me…

Please review and let me know what you think! I appreciate it immensely...


	14. Chapter 13: Confrontation

A/N: This proved to be a very difficult chapter for me to write. In the end, I had to use a song from BBC Sherlock's soundtrack for inspiration (It was from Series 2 episode 1, "The woman" and another, more… _spoilery_ one). Needless to say, I don't own the songs!

Now, this is a bit shorter than previous ones, but it's mainly one scene, and it is _intense_.

Enjoy…

* * *

**Chapter 13: Confrontation **

It was the middle of the day and the sky was grey, storm clouds gathering above the bleak, cold land. And yet, to Arthur it seemed as if the brightest sun had suddenly shed its light, it's warm beams gloriously caressing the fields surrounding this small and unimportant village. He just couldn't explain it any other way, that feeling of righteousness, of _hope,_ that surged through him so violently it threatened to consume him entirely, if he wasn't careful containing it. And at that moment, he wanted to do anything but. Because, by a miracle, his most desperate prayers had been answered. The Gods above were smiling at him at last, though why it was him that they chose to show favor, Arthur couldn't understand. He was certain he wasn't worthy of it. But the blessing had come none the less.

Merlin.

Merlin had _returned_.

A perfect silence spread through the entire area surrounding them. It was so quick to set in, so absolute, that Arthur wondered for a moment whether an enchantment had actually been placed upon them. As soon as that thought came to him though, he banished it, ashamed of letting old habits get the best of him.

Arthur was vaguely aware that the others were still somewhere beside him. He knew that Gaius and Alator were close too, so were his knights. But, be it from shock or disbelief, _no one_, none of them spoke or moved. No one dared to even _breathe_.

_Perhaps they too are afraid that if they did, the spell would break and Merlin would vanish once again._

The only sound was that of the light shuffling of the grass, as the three newly arrived men moved slowly through the fields, walking in almost a straight line towards the King of Camelot.

It was Merlin that led the way, walking with an air of authority that fitted him as naturally as if he had been born a leader of men. Unavoidably, Arthur's gaze shifted from Merlin to the Prince of Ostia and his manservant, who were walking closely behind. And like that, Arthur's heart sank again, as he remembered all that stood between him and Merlin now, all that had changed. He had to remind himself that this was far from a happy reunion. It was easier that he had thought it would be, to see Lucan of Ostia again and not attack him on the spot for the traitor and the thief that he was. But Arthur controlled his anger and bile, knowing that, though he had had a major role in Merlin deserting his life in Camelot, Lucan would never have succeeded were it not for Arthur's own mistakes and wrongs where his best friend was concerned.

He looked at Merlin again, his eyes drawn there subconsciously, and Arthur let himself take in the change in his appearance.

The Merlin he knew, the fool and servant, wasn't there anymore. He was replaced by this... new, no, this _real_ Merlin. The powerful sorcerer. _The most powerful of them all_.

If he had to use only one word to describe him, as he was steadily approaching the King with long strides, Arthur would have gone with _intimidating_. Because Merlin really appeared like that. Gone was the harmless looking, cowering young village boy that Arthur remembered trotting foolishly behind him, defying both orders and danger just to be with his master. The man before him now was someone every sane person could, and easily _would,_ be afraid off. He walked with his back straight and his head held high, making his frame, the one Arthur remembered as scrawny and weak, appear bigger, wider. Gone too were his old clothes, the rags that were so achingly familiar to Arthur. Instead, he was clad in well fitting garments made of rich fabrics, their colors dark, in tones of grey and black, a complete contrast to the vibrant reds and blues that used to define the King's manservant's appearance. This man, though, wasn't a servant. Anyone could see now that he was someone important.

But the greatest change in Merlin was his expression. Because the closer he got to Arthur, the better the King could read the sorcerer's face and the more he understood of the other man's disposition. There was no warmth in Merlin's features any more. No smile. He looked so different because of it. Especially _his eyes_. They were hard, unyielding, almost cruel in their coldness, their _distance_.

Arthur had already come to recognize that Merlin had always been _more_, deep down. He knew from the beginning Merlin wasn't all that he seemed_. _That he couldn't have been.

_But I refused to acknowledge it. Not until it was too late._

No. It _wasn't_ too late. _He's here now, isn't he?_ Even if he was distant and unfamiliar, it was still Merlin under all those… differences. And Arthur could have his chance now to explain to him, to make his old friend understand that he too had changed. That he was sorry, that he was determined to make it right, to make it up to him.

Then, Merlin finally stood before him, after such a long time, and his blue eyes were seeking Arthur's own. The silence seemed to stretch even more prominently as they watched each other, measuring.

"Leave us," came the order from Merlin's lips, though his gaze never left Arthur's. Not long ago, Arthur would have found it ridiculous that someone like _Mer_lin would dare to give orders to anyone, let along in the presence of a King and a Prince. But now he watched almost nonplussed as the village boys stumbled on their feet and hurried to leave, not daring to utter a single word of protest. George took off right after them, but not before shooting a worried look towards his King.

Lucan glanced at his own manservant, Declan, gesturing him to move. "We won't be far," he murmured as he walked by them, towards the nearest houses.

Arthur's anger resurfaced when he heard the warning in the other man's tone. It was a vainly concealed threat towards himself, he knew that much. But at the same time it betrayed a possessiveness that annoyed and enraged the King even more. Did that man think he had Merlin on a _leash_?

They waited until they were completely alone.

"I…" Arthur began to say before Merlin's steady voice cut through his words.

"Don't be alarmed, Sire," he said and Arthur's stomach clenched at the detached tone Merlin was using. It was as if he was addressing a stranger. "We come in peace. This _big bad sorcerer_ has no intent to harm you. Any of you. My companions and I are here only to help. And I can _assure_ you that we'll be leaving your _hospitable_ kingdom as soon as we're finished restoring you to the throne and dealing with the usurper witch. That is, I would, if I knew there was a chance you could ever take a sorcerer's word for what it's worth…"

Merlin's last added comment, though spoken in the same distant, impersonal voice like the rest of his speech, sounded too like one of Merlin's old 'insults' for Arthur not to unwittingly make the connection between this new all-business like tone and their old bantering. At that moment he realized how much he had actually missed it, how long it was since the last time it had come natural and easy to them, and what it really meant to him as a person. How necessary Merlin's _friendship_ had become for him, Arthur, the King of Camelot. It left him numb. Could it be fixed? Could they overcome this?

_This is my doing…_

To Arthur it seemed what Merlin lacked the most was his old, almost characteristic passion for life. And a small, petty part of Arthur felt oddly triumphant at that thought. The man had left them behind to find a better life, but it seemed that all the fine clothes, riches and titles the Prince of Ostia had given him hadn't been enough to make him as happy as he had been in Camelot.

_Once. He had stopped being happy for a long time and you know it_.

Arthur knew this was his chance to rectify everything that had happened between them.

"You're wrong…" he said, shaking his head to emphasize. He was aware that his voice must have sounded strangely croaky, filled with pent up emotion, but he didn't care anymore. There was no one else there to witness this. Just Merlin.

He drew his shoulders back before he continued. This was one of the most serious conversations he would make in his entire life, that much was clear. And this new Merlin made him want to be as formal as he could. Talk to him like he would an equal.

"Recently I've realized that I have been… ignorant about a great many things. Especially matters that concern magic." He took a deep breath and pointedly stared the sorcerer in the eye. It was crucial for Merlin to understand that he really meant the next part. He chose his words carefully.

"Now I can see that not all magic is evil."

Merlin's whole body jerked when he heard Arthur speak what he could only guess was something the sorcerer must have craved for for many years. He looked at Arthur stunned. Shock, confusion and a veil of mistrust could be clearly seen upon his features. The King decided to take advantage of the other man's apparent lack of words and he hurried to press on, to lay everything out in the open for Merlin to see. "It may not yet be official, given the current situation but it's no less true. You are free to practice sorcery in Camelot. I've changed my old views on magic. And… I would _welcome_ you back. Gladly." _You must know that at least,_ he thought fervently as he let the other man process his words.

Guarded still, but somewhat recovered from the surprise, Merlin repeated slowly, as if trying to understand something spoken in another language. "You… _changed your views on magic_…"

Without a moment's hesitation, Arthur agreed. "Yes."

Something shifted then in the sorcerer's face, and Arthur wanted to cry out in joy when he finally saw a crack in Merlin's mask of impassiveness. Merlin's eyes were wide from what Arthur wanted to read as astonishment . It made him look young and approachable again. Like the old Merlin had been.

"I…I don't…" Merlin muttered, not capable of expressing himself properly. After a moment he added more clearly.

"_Thank you._"

It was a simple answer but it sounded so honest it made Arthur's heart warm instantly. He had made the right decision, Arthur was certain of it. If not for all the other reasons to return magic to the land, then only for this one, Merlin's reaction, it was worth it.

Reluctantly, Merlin took a small step closer. "What made you…?" he asked, clearly not knowing how to finish the question. It didn't matter. Arthur had understood.

"Magic has been used to save me in the past," he responded, lowering his eyes feeling exposed. Merlin let out a disbelieving huff, still seeming unable to find his words. Arthur couldn't blame him.

It was then, the moment when Arthur lifted his gaze to watch an incredulous but so very _human_ Merlin all but gape at him, that Arthur's resolve finally crumbled, and whatever idea he had of not trying to ask Merlin back left his mind completely.

"We… _I_ need you, Merlin," he confessed. He had known something inside him had changed the moment the sorcerer had reappeared. He had found hope again and, though Arthur had realized that he still probably didn't deserve it, that perhaps Merlin would have been better off without him, he just couldn't help himself. He just had to try, had to search for a way to make Merlin understand that he had _changed_ now, that things would be different this time.

After all, Merlin had been the one to return, hadn't he? He must still care for them, no matter how he tried to hide or deny it. So in a way, Arthur would be helping Merlin continue on a path that he must have, at least subconsciously, chosen to take. The return to Camelot, to _them_.

"And I… I don't want you to _leave again, _Merlin," Arthur said, feeling awkward and unsure of how he should continue. Gaius' words came to his mind. He had chosen to ignore them the previous day, but now, perhaps they were right.

"You have to see, you _belong_ here in Camelot. With us." _With me_, he left unsaid. "Please stay, Merlin. It will be an honour to have the most powerful sorcerer to ever live in my service."

The moment the words left his mouth he realized they weren't wisely chosen. They had sounded too possessive and formal, so different from what he had been meaning to express. He cursed inwardly as Merlin's previously almost open expression closed in an instant. But before Arthur had any chance to take what he said back, to simply rephrase, Merlin shot him his answer.

"No." It was a cold reply that felt like a punch in the gut. Merlin's eyes were hard again. Angry.

Arthur sensed dread fill him. "Merlin, I didn't mean to…"

"Let me make myself clear, Sire. While I rejoice in the fact that you finally managed to see reason where magic is concerned, know that I came back to take care of my loose ends and nothing more. That means I'm here to face Morgana. Not to return to _your service_."

Though Merlin had been obviously trying to keep his voice controlled in an effort to show as little emotion as possible, it was clear that he had relapsed to his new, colder self. He had sounded almost cruel when he spat the word _service_ like it had been venom on his tongue.

A memory came to Arthur then unwittingly, and time itself seemed to stop as he travelled to another place, where another, younger Merlin had spoken to him, sounding like he was saying goodbye. _'I'm happy to be your servant, till the day I die.' _

How times could change and promises fade away. _Break_.

He shook himself. If anything he had finally reached a place where he could admit this was mostly his fault. To think that he had rushed things like this, especially now… Had he not learned anything still?

_Let go of your damn pride for once, you fool. You're losing him… _

"I'm _sorry_…" he gasped, the words coming out of his mouth strained, difficult. _Damn it._

But Merlin just stared him in the eyes, uninterested. "Good for you, Arthur."

Dismissal. Just like that. Like it was every day that a King would ask for forgiveness. His father would be turning in his grave…

Guarding himself as best he could, Arthur gave it another try. He had to make things clear. There was a reason he had never been any good dealing with feelings, let alone asking someone to _forgive_ him.

"I just meant…" he struggled, aware he was clinching his fists at his sides to help ease the tension inside him, "that from now on you'd be _honoured_ for who you are…"

Again Merlin interrupted and this time his voice was thick with disdain. "Who I am? You mean Emrys?"

Realizing how his words had been misinterpreted again by the other man, Arthur had immediately wanted to refute him. To shout that no, that had nothing to do with them, those prophecies and legends didn't matter to him at all, they _weren't important_. Instead he found himself once again forced to remain silent, this time not because of a spell, but because his own mind had gone blank and refused to let him move, even as Merlin took a menacing step towards him, looking more angry than Arthur had ever seen him before.

The warlock's brows were drawn, his eyes were thunderous and his mouth formed a sneer.

"You truly are _unbelievable_!" Merlin spat to Arthur's face, voice now rising in volume with each word. "I've spent almost ten years of my life serving you, Arthur Pendragon! Everything I've ever done has been for _you_! I've served you, followed you to hunts, patrols, wars, you name it! Always unarmed and, as far as you knew -but didn't _ever_ care-, unprotected… I've stopped you from killing your father, drank poison for you. And I've always warned you about the threats your kingdom was facing. _I've saved your life_ so _many times I lost count ages ago_, and I'm pretty sure that there were at least three or four times you were actually very aware of it! I wrote your damn speeches for goodness sake! And I was the only one there for you when all of your hopes had vanished…"

Merlin paused, panting, trying to catch his breath, while Arthur found that _he_ couldn't breathe anymore. He felt the shame crushing him, because he knew very well where this was heading. Soon enough, Merlin continued, sounding broken as he yelled.

"I BELIEVED in you and I never failed to tell you! And for all that you've given me what? _WHAT_?"

Arthur didn't dare to respond. He was too mortified of that answer. But Merlin did it for him anyway.

"NOTHING!" he bellowed. He backed off then, if only just a little bit, looking more like a wild animal licking his wounds. "For _nothing_… Instead, I had to live my life in fear, unable to confide my secrets to anyone. Because I had no idea how _you_ would react and if you decided on a whim to kill me, then not only would I lose my head but I would be responsible for the upcoming fall of Camelot as well! Because let's face it, without me it wouldn't stand a chance. It actually _didn't!_ I had to endure every demeaning and belittling task known to man, while working hard to prove to you I was far more useful than your average servant. And I had to watch as _every single one_ _of my friends_ were elevated, reaching their full potential, while I was left behind, always disregarded, and lately not only by you but by them as well. But I endured it all. For the sake of _destiny_." The _no more_ was implied but it still stung. "Why, Arthur?" he asked, his voice taking a bitter turn. "Why did you do that for them, but not for me? Just because I, unlike your knights, am not that skilled with a sword? _Was that it?_"

If Arthur had thought hearing this from Lucan's mouth was bad, then _this_, having Merlin accuse him like that, feeling the sorcerer's anguish and disappointment, it was _torture_. His mind reeled with panicked thoughts, full of pain and regret. He lowered his head, shaking.

_I know, Merlin. I'm so sorry… _

But no matter how much he tried, the words wouldn't come out. Instead, he only managed a faint whisper.

"What do you want me to say…"

Merlin though hardly paid any attention to it. He was beyond reasoning now. His blue eyes flashed golden with anger and magic, and the air around him crackled, soaked with his power. For the first time, Arthur realized he really was facing a powerful sorcerer. Emrys. The man continued his attack on the king relentlessly.

"_Oh but now!_ Now that you _know_ I'm an 'all powerful sorcerer' -one that you are in desperate need of, might I add- _now_ I'm suddenly good enough? _Now_ I'm worthy of recognition? Of Reward? And, of course, you expected me to come crawling back begging for forgiveness, ready to serve once more, didn't you?"

"No," Arthur tried to protest. "It's not like that!"

Like a thunder, Merlin's voice struck him again. "Well, it's _too late!_"

Nauseated, Arthur shook his head in denial. No. It _couldn't_ be too late, he refused to believe it. But the sight before him betrayed otherwise. Perhaps it was true then, perhaps he had been a fool to hope he could make things right. It seemed nothing could really stop Merlin's rage any longer. It was like a damn inside the sorcerer had broken and all the frustration and anger he had kept pent up flowed freely, an attack aimed pointedly at Arthur. _You asked for it_.

A random thought crossed Arthur's mind. How strange they must look from afar. To the others, who were probably watching. They must be horrified.

"I cannot believe I wasted my life _believing in_ _you_! You're nothing but a hypocrite. Just like that _murderer_ you call father was! Conveniently willing to accept magic only when you know nothing else can help you. I bet you'll be burning sorcerers at the stake the minute you'll be back on the throne. So much for principles, oh noble King of Camelot..."

That went too far. It was enough to shake Arthur out of his guilt induced stupor. If anything, at least he wasn't a _liar_. He had always been honest. Merlin had no reason to doubt him about that.

"No. My word is true and you _know_ it," he protested, feeling for the first time since Merlin had arrived that things were getting out of control_._

But the sorcerer didn't hear the warning in his voice. He continued his taunting, cruel and cold.

So _unlike _Merlin.

"Tell me, _Arthur_. If Morgana hadn't taken over your kingdom, would I had time to actually plead for my life or would you had beheaded me the moment you saw me?" Merlin goaded him.

That did it for Arthur.

"Damn it, Merlin!" he shouted, losing his temper completely. "Just listen to yourself! You cannot honestly believe all that! You of all people should know I would never do anything like that! Have I ever shown different?"

That seemed to finally get through to Merlin. Though, to Arthur's despair, it only served to fuel the other man's rage even more.

"Can you deny that if I stayed you would have had me killed?" he said, lifting his chin, daring the King to say otherwise.

Arthur was livid. He wanted to simultaneously curse and cry. This wasn't fair.

"How can you even _say_ that? You really expected me to execute you after finding out you have been secretly saving my life for years? Do you think me _that_ ungrateful? That I would repay all the lives you've saved, all the good you have done with nothing but hatred and death? No one is _that_ cruel..."

"Your father was," Merlin retorted.

Yes. His _father_. One of the reasons things were so difficult to begin with. "Well _I_ am not my father," he replied and he truly meant it. Arthur would learn from the mistakes his father had made. And from his own as well.

Merlin threw a hand in the air in a disregarding motion. "Just admit it, Arthur! The moment my magic was revealed, I was a traitor to the crown. To your duty-bound mind that meant death or at best exile. And you know what? I learned long ago that nothing I could ever do would be good enough for you to compliment or reward. Time and again, I would give my life for you, sacrifice my happiness, my loved ones, _everything_, and in the end you would still call me a brainless idiot not worthy of your company! How was I supposed to know that, ironically, the only thing I had to do for you to actually recognize my value would be _to admit I was a sorcerer_? Someone with a gift you could easily take advantage of…"

"Merlin! You're not thinking straight! I know I should have been a better friend, and I'm sorry, but I would _never _take adv…"

A manic laughter prevented Arthur from saying anything more. Truly frightened for his friend's sanity, he watched Merlin as he was shaking while making a harsh, almost barking sound that didn't even remotely sound like amusement.

"_Friend_, he says! You're the one who's not thinking straight, Arthur! I thought Princes, let alone Kings, could never really be seen as friends with mere _servants_! Of course there's the exception of a certain lovely _maid_ servant, whom it was alright for you to marry and make her you Que…"

Arthur's hand descended before he even realized it. He slapped Merlin hard on the left side of his face, forcing the sorcerer's raving to an end. The sting lingered on his hand, while he watched as Merlin brought his fingers to touch where the blow had landed, his eyes blue and wide, unblinking from mere shock.

"Don't you _dare_ bring _Guinevere_ into this! If you want to blame someone then blame me and me alone! But know this, Merlin. You may be right about me being unfair towards you, but _you too_ were unfair. _You lied to me! _From the moment we met! You stand here saying you had such faith in me, _believed in me,_ but you never actually trusted me! When I, on the other hand, trusted you more than anyone else in the world and I know you _knew that_! And when it came down to choosing between me and Lucan, you gave me no chance, not even a moment to plead my case, nothing! You trusted _him_! You chose him! YOU JUST LEFT!"

_You left me…_

Arthur stilled the moment he finished, finally registering what had happened. What he had said and done. In his anger, he had physically _hit_ Merlin.

He looked at the sorcerer, not knowing what he would find exactly. Perhaps he just wanted to make sure he was alright, that he wouldn't just get up and leave or perhaps it was only a defensive reflex. When his eyes met Merlin's, Arthur barely had time to note that now they were glowing completely golden, before he felt a hard shove on his chest and then he was flying backwards. He fell unceremoniously to the ground several feet away, curling in on himself the moment he got his breath back. The pain on his side where he had hit the ground was mind-numbing.

From a distant he heard a voice -_Gaius'_- shouting something. A name.

"_Merlin! Both of you! That's enough!" _

Slowly, Arthur used the ground to lift himself, first to his hands and knees, then up. He turned and saw Merlin behind him, his hand still raised but his eyes back to their normal color. Then Arthur let himself take in the entire scene. Around the two of them, keeping a good distance but still close enough to be able to hear what had been said were the others. Gaius, Alator, the knights, George and many of the villagers. Even Lucan and his servant. Most of them looked alarmed, some even terrified of what had happened. If it was the fight, Arthur's outburst or Merlin's magic that caused it, Arthur could only guess. Maybe all three.

Just a few feet ahead of him, Merlin deflated, his hand falling down as his expression changed from thunderous to defeated.

Arthur agreed silently. He felt the same.

_Perhaps we both needed that._

Walking slowly, thankfully without a limp, he picked up the sword he had used for training, which he must had dropped the minute he had laid eyes on Merlin and the others.

He walked to the other man, sword pointed down to show he meant no harm, until he was by his side.

"There is no point in continuing this any longer."

His thoughts now focused on Guinevere and his people in Camelot, already starved and oppressed by his mad sister. He searched Merlin's face for some sign of rejection but found none.

"You said you came here to help," he said to Merlin. He tried to sound neutral, though he was sure his voice had cracked at the end.

Merlin stayed silent. He avoided Arthur's eyes, turning his head to the opposite side. He nodded once.

"Then come. We have little time…" he finished and moved passed the other man, through the wide circle of his friends and allies towards the village.

* * *

A/N: That was a pain to write… Oh, well. What can I say? _Men_…

In a way, coming back for Merlin meant reopening wounds that had barely began closing in the first place, leaving him hurt and angry. As for Arthur, though he had made such progress, he just had to go and mess it all up again, misguided by his suddenly renewed hope.

I haven't said it in a while but I want to thank my beta** Arwyn-t** for her never-ending help and support. Thank you T.

Finally, I have something very important to tell all of you, my dear readers! In less than a month I have my final uni exams and I really need to focus on them from now on. So I'm very sorry to say that the next chapter will probably not come for a while (late September at best). Rest assured I'm in no way abandoning this fic. It will be completed. But, at least for now, I have to change my priorities… :(

If you'd like, please leave a review for me. They always make my day :D

And I could seriously use some possitive energy...

sfsf


	15. Chapter 14: Till morning comes

A/N: And I'm back, fellow Merlin fans! :D

After more than a month of absence, I can finally give you the next chapter!

A huge thank you to all of you who wished me good luck for my exams! Your wishes worked and from now on I can proudly call myself Gaius' colleague, though maybe not so experienced and considerably less medieval…

So, there you go, loves! Enjoy ;)

Oh, I almost forgot... Warnings for this chapter: Assault.

Nothing too violent though...

* * *

**Chapter 14: Till morning comes**

The wooden door closed behind her, its old hinges creaking loudly.

"You have five minutes," she heard the captain's cold voice inform her. Not bothering to answer, Mithian walked slowly further inside the deserted chambers.

She glanced around her, trying to take in as much detail as she could, which, given it was close to sunset, wasn't a lot. It wasn't at all surprising to the princess how the physician's rooms here in Camelot mirrored a great deal the ones they had back in her home. The same collection of foul smelling herbs and potions, piles of books, parchments full of notes and calculations, artifacts so bizarre that wouldn't fit in any other environment but the working bench of a scientist. There were a lot of differences, of course. Little details here and there that betrayed the uniqueness of the individuals who resided there. An old pendant hanging from a shelf over the bed in the corner, a pair of glasses left on an opened book.

If one were to look more carefully, they could easily see the thin layer of dust that covered almost every item in the chambers, a clear sign that no one had stepped foot in there for days, had cleaned for even longer than that. Though that came as no surprise. She knew that not one but two people lived here. The physician, Gaius, who had left the city before the treaty talks had even begun, and Merlin. According to Guinevere, he slept in a small room attached to these chambers.

It wasn't hard to spot the stairs to what was, most likely, Merlin's room. Curious, she moved towards them.

…

"_Perhaps there you can find something useful. Merlin's rooms were always such a mess. Now that I think about it, it could have been a cover. He could have hidden anything in that chaos of his and nobody would have realized a thing," Gwen said, pondering. _

_Mithian nodded, tucking her hair in a tight bun. "I'll try. You're sure Gaius doesn't keep any weapons hidden there as well?"_

_The other woman shook her head frowning. "No, I don't think so. Just try to look for a knife or something. Perhaps a sleeping draught? A poison?"_

_Mithian agreed solemnly. "Take anything that could be even remotely useful." _

_She got up, heading to the door. She raised a hand to knock but was intercepted by Gwen's firm hand on her own._

_She was looking at her with doubt and fear. "This is too dangerous, Mithian. What if someone catches you…" she whispered. _

"_They won't," Mithian replied softly but confidently. " I'll be fine, Gwen. You know there's nothing else we can do. I refuse to just sit around and wait."_

_Gwen's shoulders fell. She removed her grasp, her gaze softening. _

"_It may as well be all for nothing," she made her final attempt to dissuade the determined princess. "You probably won't find anything there…"_

_Mithian just shrugged. "It's a risk I'm willing to take…" _

_She knocked the door to alert their captors of her request._

…

She didn't manage to even reach Merlin's room before the mercenary stopped her.

"I reckon you won't find the valerian there, _my Lady_," he said, loud and taunting. Her heart skipped a beat. Had he seen through her act? Had he figured out she wasn't there just for a sedative for Gwen's tense nerves ? Or was it all just part of the man's usual thuggish demeanor? In any case, Mithian didn't dare to push her luck. It was enough that the mercenary captain had agreed to let her go to the physician's chambers without letting Morgana know. The only downside was that he had come in the room with her.

"I would look on that bench over there, if I were you," he added, and this time Mithian was certain he was smirking at her knowingly.

She retreated, heading for the bench he had pointed out. At least the man had remained by the door and not followed right behind her. That way she could turn her back to him, even briefly. Looking through the various vials and bottles, she soon spotted the one she had come for. It was a small red vial, whose label wrote in neat words:

"_Valerian_

_To calm the nerves and offer deep sleep"_

Her hand lingered over the item but, before she had even moved to grab it, she froze. Something else was lying on the bench, half hidden between the assortment of potions. A small knife. Looking closer, she took notice of the simple wooden handle and the blade, still covered in what looked like dried mud. Clearly it hadn't been made to be used as a weapon but a tool, probably to cut plants or roots.

Wasting no time, Mithian grabbed the knife in a swift motion, tucking it under the long sleeve of her left hand. She held her breath for a moment, fearing something in her movements could have alerted her keeper but when nothing happened, she let it out slowly, relieved. Suppressing a smile at her small victory, she reached again, this time for the valerian potion. Raising her right hand, she made a show of checking the label on the vial and then turned to face the mercenary.

"I found it," she offered simply, her voice even. She held both hands close to her thighs, so that captain Brog wouldn't be able to spot the unnatural bump of her wrist . She walked calmly and full of fake confidence, approaching the mercenary who was now leaning by the wooden door. She tried not to show how unnerved his piercing gaze made her feel. Again, she reassured herself that if he had suspected something he would have reacted.

When she was mere paces from the door, and the only thing standing between her and the exit was the mercenary, her mask of confidence started to crumble.

"We should head back," she offered the man in front of her, trying to urge him to move but she only succeeded in making him smirk. "Should we?" he asked her.

But he didn't give her time to respond. In the blink of an eye, Brog's seemingly relaxed body moved swiftly and full of force. He grabbed her left arm tightly with his right hand, forcing her to lift it up, while he used his bulk to switch their positions, trapping her against the door. Mithian's eyes went wide with fear. "What do you think you're doing? Let go of me!" she hissed, fighting in vain to get free. It only served to aggravate her attacker even more. He pressed her against the hard wooden surface of the closed exit, his fingers tightening painfully around her left wrist, while he held her other hand, the one holding the potion, back.

The knife was now clearly visible under the thing fabric of her long sleeved gown.

"What's this then?" he asked her again, his face inches from hers, his breath falling heavily on her cheek. She felt bile coming to her mouth, could feel him pressing her down. She couldn't breathe. He flounced her captured limb to the side making the offending item hidden on it fall to the floor. The clang of the metal echoed in the silence. Mithian's heart was beating impossibly fast, her mind racing to find a chance to escape, a way out, anything.

_He's going to kill me_, she kept repeating in her head. _I'm going to die. _

But he didn't reach for his sword, nor his dagger. He simply pressed her even more, making her gasp from the pain of the door handle pushed at her back. Mithian struggled again, but Brog's main advantage was his strength and he didn't falter even a little bit. To make things clear, he moved his left hand up and down her side in a mock caress of comfort. Mithian cursed inwardly as she heard a pathetic whimpering noise that could have only came out of her mouth. But she couldn't control her dread any longer. There was a dangerous spark in Brog's eyes.

She closed her eyes tightly. There would be no point in shouting when no one is left out there to come to her rescue. But she _would_ fight him.

With everything she had.

Two things happened next. Somebody knocked on the door while Mithian simultaneously started thrashing, using all her energy and strength, trying to find a way to land a blow on her attacker, either using her elbow, her head or her legs.

"Help!" she screamed, desperately hoping that, by some miracle, the person on the other side of the door was an ally, and not a foe.

Brog brought his elbow to her neck, preventing her from yelling a second time. That moment, he looked murderous.

"Captain?" a voice came from the corridor, and Mithian's last, frail hope vanished the moment she saw the mercenary smirk in recognition. It was one of his men then.

"I'm busy, Joel! Get lost!" he yelled, his hands once again hungrily grabbing her body.

"Sorry to bother but the _witch_ is looking for you, Captain. She's getting real angry too…" the man insisted. Brog groaned.

It took less than a second for the mercenary captain to make his decision. He looked at Mithian's trembling form, and slowly, he retreated.

"I'm coming…" he said loudly to the other man, never letting Mithian out of his sight.

"We'll be sure to continue this later, _my dear_," he added, softly now, for her ears alone to hear. "After tomorrow, you'll be bound to get lonely up there, without your _maid_ to keep you company."

Mithian's mind had gone completely blank. Somewhere on the back of her head she realized she must have been barely hanging to consciousness.

"We wouldn't want you to get bored now, would we?" he finished. He took a key from his belt and, pushing the princess' almost limp form aside, he unlocked the door, like nothing out of the ordinary had even occurred.

She flinched as she felt him taking her by the arm to guide her outside. The other man didn't react at all to her presence there.

"Take her to her room, will you?" she heard Brog order nonchalantly as she was passed over to the other man. Her legs almost gave up following her new jailer to her prison.

* * *

Merlin turned on his side, trying to get comfortable. The small cot reminded him a lot of the one he had back in Camelot and he definitely hadn't been in Ostia long enough for his body to get used to the luxury Lucan had provided him.

He guessed his difficulty in falling asleep had more to do with the people gathered in the main room of the farm house than the questionable quality of his mattress. If the warlock listened closely, he could actually make out their voices, though most were nothing more than whispers. Merlin imagined them sitting beside the fireplace, conversing in hushed tones, not just because of the late hour, but because _he_ might be listening in. Merlin had no doubt he was one of the main topics of their discussion.

If he closed his eyes, he could see them in his mind, their faces hard, full of concern and determination, just like he had left them hours ago.

…

"_I only know what I saw in the Window of the World. That Morgana has not only Camelot, but Gwen and Mithian as well. And that you escaped…" he let his voice trail off. He really didn't know much about the situation. Where were the rest of the knights? Who did Morgana have on her side? Did she have any more plans? Was she out on a hunt for Arthur, like the last time?_

_Beside him, Gaius sighed. "You have a lot to learn then, my boy."_

_And wasn't that odd, hearing Gaius call him 'his boy', like nothing had ever happened since he had last seen the old physician. Especially when they still hadn't had the time to talk to each other in private. _

_But after what happened out there with Arthur, Merlin was wary of being left alone with any of his old _acquaintances_…_

…

It had taken him hours to sort his thoughts and storming emotions out enough to figure out why he had reacted the way he had when he had talked with Arthur. He'd been almost completely silent during the general meeting that had been held in the main room. His already clouded mind had barely had time to absorb the new information about the attack.

…

_At first, Merlin couldn't watch Arthur in the eye when the king began his retelling of the events that had led to their flight. Though something deep inside told him that Arthur's face, like his voice, was void of any real emotion. A mask. _

"_They attacked the second night after you left Camelot. Morgana not only had her Bloodguard, but some hired men and a magical beast as well. Gaius and Alator can explain it to you later and much better than I ever could." _

_Merlin eyed the Catha priest. His presence there had been one of the bigger surprises that day. To find that Alator, a man sworn to him, had been willingly aiding Arthur and the others to retake the city. It was one of the factors that had made him realize he had been wrong to question Arthur's change of faith about magic. _

"_They found little resistance. Apparently Alined had been working with her from the start. He must have done something to neutralize our guard. They captured me. I was sentenced to death. Alator, Leon, Elyan, Gwaine and… and Percival are the ones to whom I owe my life. They stopped the execution and helped me escape. We went into hiding. Managed to flee the city, all of us but Sir Percival. He was… he was captured." _

…

Merlin buried his face in his pillow, sighing. He remembered how Arthur's whole demeanor had changed the moment he'd mentioned Percival's name. Merlin's own chest still ached just thinking of it. It had been painfully hard to learn that Percival had ultimately met his demise in the hands of their enemy. Even more so when that enemy had been Morgana.

And Merlin couldn't help but wonder if something like this would have ever happened if he hadn't left. Perhaps if he had remained, then Percival would probably still be alive, wouldn't he? Merlin had always been the one who protected their small, selected group, even if he hadn't felt like one of them for a long time. But then he thought of Lancelot and of how he hadn't been able to save him from death as well, even when he had been right there when it had happened.

In the end, he had to come to terms with it. It wasn't his fault, not entirely anyway. Like Lancelot, Percival too had _chosen_ the life of a knight. He had known of the dangers that came with the job.

The door opened. Someone entered slowly, careful not to make any more noise.

Merlin was lying on the bed with his back towards the exit, but that didn't stop him from figuring out his visitor's identity. He had been expecting it, if he were honest. He didn't move at all.

"I figured you wouldn't be sleeping," Gwaine said, seeing right through Merlin's act. The warlock groaned. There was no avoiding the talk then. He turned around, not bothering to sit or get up.

Gwaine's form was only just visible in the darkness of the night. But Merlin tried to study him nonetheless. The knight wasn't dressed in his armor. His simple clothes reminded the warlock of their first encounter almost five years ago. He remembered Gwaine as the man that despised nobility in all its forms, that had claimed Merlin was his first true friend.

"What is it?" Merlin asked, feeling tired. He didn't think he could spare any more energy fighting. He was supposed to be resting for tomorrow, for the battle in Camelot.

Gwaine shifted his weight from one foot to the other but didn't move towards Merlin in any way. He seemed uncharacteristically reluctant.

"I…" he began, but stopped, like he had no idea what to say next. The warlock waited a few seconds and when the knight didn't continue, he grabbed his blanket having every intention of returning to his rest.

"I know you don't want to hear this, that you'll probably won't believe me anyway, but, for what it's worth I'm going to say it."

Merlin, who had already turned his back to the other man, froze mid movement.

"I'm sorry, Merlin."

It was different hearing those words coming from Gwaine's mouth. For, out of all the people who used to call him friend (or almost friend, in Arthur's case), Gwaine had been the one who had tried to actually be there for him, if only from time to time. This time, Merlin sat up straight, so that he had a clear view of the knight's face.

"What for, Gwaine?" he asked.

Gwaine just tilted his head, like he was trying to understand what the other man said. "Oh, I think you know what for…" he said after a while, sounding all too serious.

And yes, Merlin did know. Because, not only did Gwaine owe his current position as a knight to Merlin, but he had never stopped thinking of the other man as his friend. A friend who had lately been troubled, had been suffocating, in dire need of help.

But he had failed to see any of that. In a way, Gwaine had failed Merlin.

Merlin didn't speak for a long time. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, gesturing for the other man to come sit beside him.

He thought of Arthur and how much the king's words of apology had only served to anger him. It hadn't been that he really didn't believe Arthur was telling the truth. No, deep down Merlin knew Arthur wouldn't lie, especially not about something as monumental as the subject of magic. It had been the fact that Arthur's repentance had come _too late_. That it had been forced by the direness of circumstances and hadn't really been a free will decision. Arthur literally didn't have any other choice. It had been either accept the help of magic or die without it.

And that had hurt Merlin even more than he'd ever thought possible.

It had been the easiest thing in the world to just break down then, say every single thought that had been gnawing his mind and sanity, keeping him awake almost every night since the day he had left Camelot. Despite what he had said to Lucan, or even to himself, deep inside, Merlin still hadn't managed to truly get pass the pain. The wound of the initial revelation and acceptance that it _had all been in vain_, had been too fresh not to reopen with the slightest of touches. And meeting Arthur again had been equal to a hard blow on the stomach.

Forgiveness was something Merlin had been offering Arthur for years, when he had been in the other man's service. He would always forgive, always find excuses for the King's behavior. That had also been a big part of his problem. He forgave Arthur everything. From killing Freya to not believing him over Agravaine. And, that way, Arthur never knew anything else.

From that perspective, it had been Merlin's doing.

_Your determination to see goodness in people will be your undoing._ As always, the Dragon's words had double meaning. Because, just maybe, they didn't apply only to Camelot's foes but to her leader as well.

So no, he wouldn't forgive Arthur. Not this time.

Not so easily.

But he could and would forgive Gwaine. Because he knew that Gwaine's reaction to his magic hadn't been _why did you lie to me for years_, but _what kind of friend was I for not realizing it sooner_.

He didn't need to say it though. _I forgive you_. Gwaine had recognized the inviting gesture for what it was. A truce. A clean slate. To what, though, that was a whole other matter.

They stayed like that, silently keeping company to each other in the dark, some of their old familiarity returning with each passing moment.

"Elyan and Leon asked if they could come in later, talk to you…" Gwaine noted finally. When Merlin didn't say anything, he continued. "You should see them. Elyan in particular. He is… let's just say this is taking a toll on him as well…"

Merlin winced as he understood to what Gwaine was referring to.

…

"_She what?" _

_The words escaped before he could stop them. Gaius fixed him with a hard stare and nodded. It had been the physician that had informed Merlin of Morgana's ultimatum, the fact that if Arthur didn't surrender by this time tomorrow, Gwen would meet her end at the stake._

_The fear he felt for his friend that moment was only intensified by the horror of his previous thoughtless accusations. He had known it, even as he spoke, that he had gone too far mentioning Gwen's ascent to the throne in order to make a point to Arthur. He knew that what Gwen had always wanted was to be by the side of the man she loved. It hadn't been her wish to be a Queen, but to be a wife and companion to Arthur, who just happened to also be the king._

_And now her fate was hanging in the balance, and there he was, insulting her._

_That moment he let his eyes seek Arthur's willingly, for the first time since their fight. He found the King looking at him intensely. _

_He gulped. That explained Arthur's reactions too._

…

"Let them come then. I don't suppose I'll manage to doze off anyway…" he replied.

Gwaine though must had taken that as a sign of dismissal. He got up to leave. Just as he was at the door, he turned one last time, eyeing the warlock thoughtfully.

"You know he ran right after you, don't you? It took two of us to force him back, and that was long after he had lost your trail… He didn't do it because he wanted to punish you for your _crimes_, Merlin…"

Merlin actually hadn't known. He could easily imagine it, though. He looked up at Gwaine who was staring back at him.

"Just give him a chance, will ya?"

* * *

After finishing sharpening the last of the knights' swords, with the help of Sir Elyan and Sir Leon to his surprise, George found himself without any other duties to perform. Unable to find King Arthur anywhere in the vicinity, he had decided it would be for the best if he were to retire for the evening. Tomorrow he would be not only traveling back to Camelot but actually taking part in the fight. Judging by the alarmingly short amount of time King Arthur had needed in order to take him out in one to one combat (longest had been eight seconds, he had counted), he should at least make sure he was well rested. Then he might have a chance to outrun any attacker that might threaten to overcome him.

Thus, he had taken a spot on the floor, not far from the fireplace, where he had laid a blanket and improvised a bedroll to tuck himself in for the night.

Sir Leon and Sir Lamorak had already turned in. He could hear their light snoring coming from the back, where the knights had laid their bedrolls. Sir Brenn was out, patrolling the village. Sir Gwaine and Elyan had taken the small storage room at the back of the farm house. As for the strange sorcerer, Alator, and his friend, last time he saw them they had been heading outside, towards the forest. To pray for tomorrow, the foreigner had said.

Prince Lucan had been already sitting by the fireplace, where he and his manservant -who actually turned out to be a Druid- had placed their bedrolls. The other man was sleeping, leaving the Prince to pensively gaze at the burning fire.

At the other side of the room, Gaius the physician was still up, working to finish his potion.

A _magical_ potion. He still had trouble believing he had people around him freely using magic and not getting arrested. And that brought George to think of the one person he had not accounted for yet, besides the missing King.

Merlin. The warlock, as Gaius had called him, saying that he was actually a creature of magic and not a magic user, sorcerer –'like a human equivalent of a unicorn', he had heard Sir Gwaine mutter-, was sleeping in the only bed in the house, had his own room. That by itself should have been terribly shocking to George. To think that a man, a former servant no less, would be offered what should rightfully belong to the King…

But then George remembered how Merlin had looked when he appeared out of a whirlwind mere hours ago. It hadn't been just the fine clothing that made an impression to him. It had been the dramatic change in the man himself.

George had come to the conclusion that, all this time, Merlin had been disguised_._

_I knew no one could have been that incompetent at his job unless he was actually trying! _

The real Merlin, he was beginning to discover, was really, _really_ scary. And angry. But then, most sorcerers were angry these days…

He had been so preoccupied with his musings that he entirely missed the King's return. It was only when he spoke, in a low tone, that the servant realized King Arthur was just paces from him, apparently talking to Prince Lucan.

"…to let him come on his own. What, afraid he would see sense and stay here?" the King said angrily, but hushed. He clearly didn't want to be heard.

"You're delusional, Arthur," Prince Lucan shot back, fervently. "He'll never return to Camelot. He _won't_ choose you…" he added in a lower voice.

George realized two things at once. _They are talking about Merlin,_ was the first, _they must think me asleep,_ the second. From his position on the floor, he was barely able to make out the King's face, half hidden by the Ostian prince's back. He knew eavesdropping wasn't something a proper manservant would ever do, but he really didn't have any other alternative. He would rather the earth opened up and swallowed him whole than be forced to reveal to the two royals that he had been listening.

"And who's to blame for that? You and your _twisted_ version of the truth…" For the first time, King Arthur sounded bitter and hateful. George had never heard him use that tone with anyone else, ever.

He saw the back of the Prince's head move, as the man turned his face away from the King."You're _pathetic_, Pendragon."

Now, King Arthur's face was even more visible than before. The flickering light of the hearth's flames cast dozens of moving shadows on his features, making him seem almost otherworldly. And dangerous.

"Be careful, Lucan. Don't try my patience…" he warned.

George felt chills run down his spine. A feeling he had been having most frequently as of late. Apparently though, the other man either hadn't recognized the threat for what it was or didn't give a damn.

"I'm only speaking the truth," Lucan simply stated. "You _are_ an undeserving, selfish little…"

The King's face twisted with rage, the fight to control his temper lost and he cut through the other man's insulting words.

"And you think _you're _better?" he hissed, looking at Prince Lucan with disgust written on his face. "You who betrayed my trust, my _hospitality_, came into my own home as a friend and ally just so that you could steal from me! You're a _thief_ as well as a traitor!"

He hadn't raised his voice, not really, but George knew if the two royals had been alone, this conversation would have been even more explosive than the one the King had had with his former manservant. For one, these two were never even near being friends to begin with.

Lucan had gone rigid. When he replied, his voice sounded colder than the darkest winter night. "_To hell with your alliance_. I don't care if you think me a murderer too, as well as a traitor and a thief! You are quite clearly _paranoid_."

He moved closer then, once again hiding King Arthur from George's eyesight. His next words, though pulsating with anger, were almost a whisper.

"You never owned Merlin, Arthur. He _isn't_ an object."

A noise coming from behind the two men made them both jump. George recognized the sound of a body sifting on the floor, wrapped in a blanket. He guessed the druid must have woken up by the two arguing men.

When the noise disappeared, Lucan turned to the King again, and this time he spoke loud enough for anyone to hear. "Be thankful Merlin is magnanimous enough to help you get your throne back. I wouldn't if I were him."

The King's face hardened. Though George thought it wasn't only fury written upon it. He looked pained as well as angry. He moved to get up and leave, recognizing they had predictably reached a stalemate, when the other royal stopped him, giving him one final blow.

"Make sure you _keep_ your kingdom this time around, Pendragon. Because next time, Merlin won't be coming to the rescue."

The King's only response was to clench his jaw even more. As he got to his feet, his eyes left the form of his rival, instead landing on George's still round ones.

The servant froze, realizing he had been caught. But the King didn't do or say anything. He held his gaze for a long moment and then simply walked away.

George had never in his life seen Arthur Pendragon look so vulnerable. And, seeing he had almost witnessed his execution, that should really mean something.

* * *

The air outside was surprisingly clear, apart from the faint smell of smoke that was coming from the many village chimneys. The clouds above had moved on, leaving a night sky full of stars. There was no moon though. So it was by the soft starlight that Arthur sat on a bark near the small house, absentmindedly cleaning his already clean sword, thinking.

He had managed to calm down, eventually. Or at least managed to control his emotions somewhat.

How could this man, whom he barely even knew, have such an ugly effect on him? It was uncanny how close to target Lucan's words had hit. Mainly because they, in some ways, mirrored Arthur's own thoughts.

What was the point… Merlin had made it very clear that he hadn't and wouldn't forgive him. That he wouldn't be returning to Camelot. Not that Arthur didn't understand Merlin's reasons. If their roles had been reversed, he was sure he would have cracked much sooner. After their argument and all the things both of them had said and done, the King had lost any lingering hope he might have had of mending what lay broken between them.

It was a lost cause, trying to change the warlock's mind. If this had been any other time, Arthur wouldn't have give up after only one fight, but there were many more urgent matters that needed his full attention right now. Like tomorrow's impending battle for example.

He was still nervous about Merlin's changes to his original plan of attack, though he knew now that the other man had a lot more experience than he would have given him credit for in the past. Still, the direness of the situation was such that, with so much depending on everything going exactly as planned, he couldn't help but over think every single detail.

The weirdest thing was that, despite all the drama and the fights, Arthur's instincts had considerably calmed now that Merlin was there, fighting on their side. It was as if deep down he was now certain that they would succeed in taking back Camelot, saving both his people and Guinevere. Just like they had in the past. Because the missing -_magic_- ingredient was back. Merlin had gotten them out of worse situations, and Arthur would bet that it had been without using his magic anywhere near its full potential too.

Never mind that the warlock could barely look at Arthur's direction. What mattered to their cause was that he _was_ here. So, at least their chances had gone significantly up. They _could_ win this.

What would come after that though, Arthur didn't want to consider. It was too painful.

He heard the door open from behind, and then footsteps as someone approached him. The potent smell of one of Gaius' salves burned his nostrils even from a few feet afar. Turning to take the medicine, he was startled when he saw that it hadn't been the old physician to bring it, but Merlin.

"Here, Gaius wanted you to take this. He says it's for your injured side…"

Arthur thought he saw a concerned look pass the warlock's eyes. He took the offered vial quietly, and held it in the palm of his hand. He had thought that the other man would leave the moment he had delivered the item, but Merlin merely lingered there with an air of uncertainty to his posture. It made him gesture for the warlock to take a seat by his side. Still, he was surprised when the other complied so easily.

"Thanks... Shouldn't you be in bed?" he asked, not quite sure what to make of this.

"Couldn't sleep…" Merlin replied, not looking at him.

The warlock remained there, gazing at the darkness, seemingly buried deep in his thoughts. Arthur studied him closely. There wasn't any sign of tension or aggressiveness in the other man's frame. If anything, he looked worn out and, maybe a bit sad. Human.

He took the silence as an opportunity to apply the salve on his wounded side and abdomen, underneath tunic. The bruises were a residue from the time he had spent at the dungeons. Alator had opted not to heal them with magic, like he had done to his broken bones. Something about overstretching the limits of the Balance.

He could feel Merlin had started paying attention to him again, sensing the other man's gaze was burning the side of his face. He turned to look at him.

Merlin was startled, as if caught doing something he shouldn't. "Right, well…" the warlock said awkwardly, clearing his voice. He made to get up and leave.

Arthur hurried to stop him. He had a rare opportunity to talk to the other alone, without anyone listening in and judging him. In a few hours, they would have to depart for Camelot. He decided to take it.

"I truly meant it you know. What I said before. Not that last part… The…" he trailed off.

_I'm so bad at this. _

Eventually, he decided to keep it as simple as possible. "I really _am_ sorry…"

Merlin sighed and lowered his head. "Arthur…" he started, sounding tired. Arthur closed his eyes, waiting for the other man to continue. He wanted to believe that this time he was ready to hear whatever accusation Merlin would throw his way without losing his patience. He would at least _try_ to convince the other man of that. When nothing happened for a few long moments, Arthur opened his eyes and caught Merlin looking at him thoughtfully, a deep frown marring his face.

"I know," the warlock said after a while.

A knot inside Arthur eased hearing that. If nothing, he had made Merlin accept his apology. All the things that Merlin had said to him were true and he _was_ indeed sorry.

He owed this man so much. He wanted with all his heart to be able to make up for all of it. But he couldn't do anything if Merlin wouldn't let him.

"Thank you," he settled to say to him, in the end. "For everything."

The warlock didn't give an answer. Arthur chose to count it as a victory. A few hours ago Merlin would have rushed to rebuke him. He didn't even try to leave, as he had been intending to do. To Arthur, Merlin looked like he was struggling, not knowing what he should say or decide. If he should stay or leave. He wasn't a powerful creature of magic then. Not to Arthur's eyes. He was almost like the old Merlin.

As much as Arthur wanted the other man to stay, especially now that he was so approachable and apparently willing to listen, it was already late and in a few hours they needed to be on the move. "You should rest now, Merlin. A lot depends on you tomorrow…"

Merlin snorted. "Certainly wouldn't be the first time if I didn't. You've never cared before. Quite the opposite actually," he muttered. If it weren't for the bitter tone in his voice, it would have been just like the old times, when Merlin whined about the chores Arthur gave him.

_And here I was, thinking I might have done at least some slight progress getting through to him. _

Arthur's shoulders dropped, his eyes lowering to the ground. He deserved that, he knew it. But that didn't make it sting any less.

Merlin must have realized that as well. "That may have been unnecessary," he said under his breath. When Arthur lifted his eyes, he saw Merlin looking a bit contrite.

"I'm sorry…" the warlock added, a bit formally and then took a step back, putting an end at their conversation.

"Don't be," Arthur returned, as he watched Merlin move away. "There's nothing to forgive."

* * *

A/N: Ok. What do you think? Is this good enough of a comeback?

There may have been a tad too many I'm sorrys in this chapter… I'm sorry for that ;) but they were necessary.

I've really missed your reviews! So, please feel free to leave one! It's bound to make me extremely happy…

Oh, and as for my beta's –Arwyn-T's- fic, called 'Moments of Transition', she hasn't forgotten it, just hit a hard writer's block and is trying to overcome it. She has _not_ abandoned it.


	16. Chapter 15: The calm before the storm

A/N: Sorry for the wait guys, my beta was out of town so the whole process got delayed a bit. Forgive us if there are any mistakes, the beta-reading for this one was done in a bit of a hurry.

On to the chapter. This is a strange one. But I hope you'll find it a nice read!

Oh, and sorry for the cliché title. For the life of me, I couldn't find a better one… And I have another song, this one for the final scene.

It's "Broken Crown" by Mumford & Sons. I don't own the song, nor _Merlin_.

* * *

**Chapter 15: ** **The calm before the storm**

They left the village when it was still dark, the wee hours of the morning. All in all, they were seventeen people. An amalgamation of warriors, sorcerers and peasants, treading side by side through the forest paths. Though they were on foot, they were traveling fast enough to be arriving outside the walls of Camelot early afternoon of the same day, as planned. That would be mainly due to the fact that two of the sorcerers in their group, Alator and Declan, had created some magical lights that were harmlessly floating over their heads, shedding clear white light into the shadows, making it easier, and a lot safer, for the travelers to walk their path.

A few hours after sunrise they had reached the forest's edge. They decided to stop there, get some rest before they move on to the open hills, where they would have to be even more careful if they didn't wish to be spotted by any patrol Morgana might have sent for them.

Gwaine found a dry patch of land under a huge tree and settled there. The ride thus far had proven to be eerily quiet. No one seemed to be in the spirits for jokes or even talking. To the roguish knight, that was certainly a new experience. He was used to his friends always laughing and making fun of one another, even in the eve of a battle. They always felt closer then, knowing that they were amongst brothers, even if they might not live to see another day. This time, the silence was deafening. It was a testament not of the gravity of their predicament, but of the uncertainty of their unity as a group.

Gwaine could see it everywhere around him. It was in the faces of the village youths when they turned to shoot weary glances at Merlin, when the warlock wasn't watching. It was in the way Lucan and Declan were eyeing Arthur with doubt and mistrust, never coming too close to the King. It was in the way Merlin stayed away from everyone, keeping his back turned most of the time, seemingly staring into the void.

Brenn and Leon had left as soon as the group had settled to guard the perimeter, while Elyan and Lamorak had offered to visit a nearby stream, where they could refill the group's empty flasks with fresh water.

Gwaine tried to relax as much as he could. He spared a last glance at the direction where he knew Merlin had move to and, after seeing the warlock's dark cloak protrude from behind a large tree, he closed his eyes. He might not be able to sleep, but he would try to get some peace of mind.

"I'm telling you, _just_ before I fell right on my face, that bugger looked at me!"

"Aye... I saw it too! He was just _staring_ at you with his eyes..."

The hushed voices cut through Gwaine's reverie. Others had come to sit by his tree's thick shadow. The knight muffled a groan of annoyance, but stayed completely still, realizing that from their side of the tree trunk they hadn't seen him yet. He was quick to identify the voices as Kellenor and Denak, two of the villagers that had chosen to come with them.

The first man scoffed indignantly at his companion's words. "Don't be stupid, Kel... Of course he would stare with his _eyes_. What did you expect him to use for staring? His _ears_?" he asked his friend rhetorically.

The other waited a second before he answered. "Well... _maybe_? Just look at the size of them..."

Gwaine felt the anger boil inside him. He knew well enough to expect this kind of behaviour, the lads had always known to fear magic users as the source of all evil after all. But despite that fact, he had still, foolishly hoped that the advantage of having a powerful ally like Merlin with them in such a difficult battle would have been enough for these prejudices to be, if not forgotten, then at least put aside.

Though these particular fools weren't only ignorant and prejudiced, they were stupid as well. Making fun of a sorcerer, of _Merlin_, like this, saying those things out in the open where anyone of Merlin's friends -or the man himself- could hear them.

He wanted to walk right there and then and hit those boys in the head just to stop their annoying snickering. It hadn't even been that good of a joke!

They calmed down fairly quickly. Just when Gwaine was beginning to believe they would go on to another subject, that Denak fellow added in a more serious tone. "I just think it's unnatural, that's all. I mean, who's to say he won't turn on us and join Morgana the moment we reach Camelot? She has magic too..."

That did it for Gwaine. He got up with every intension of going over there and giving both these idiots a piece of his mind.

But someone else seemed to have gotten there first.

"What an _absurd_ thing to say!" a new voice intervened. If Gwaine hadn't known in fact that there weren't any females travelling amongst them, he would have been certain the shrieking sound had come from the mouth of a woman. He suspected who it might be, and so he hurried to see with his own eyes what was going on, not wanting to miss the unusual and potentially satisfying sight.

He walked around the tree trunk to where the other men were sitting in time to see the other village lad, Kellenor, rudely confronting an outraged George.

"What, you think _you_ know better?" the boy snorted.

"Well, to start with, I actually know Merlin_ personally_, as opposed to you two. And, though I can't say I understand what goes on in his head, I'm very confident about one thing. That if Merlin had wanted to turn on Camelot or King Arthur he had _hundreds _of opportunities to do so before and get away with it. But he never did! You heard what the King said, Merlin has always protected him and Camelot! Hell, if he did want us dead, all he had to do was simply to_ not_ _come back at all_!" the servant finished, almost yelling the last part.

Gwaine couldn't suppress his smile any longer. He moved even closer, coming to stand by George's side. The servant looked surprised, and maybe a little embarrassed as well, of his outburst but didn't react at all when Gwaine placed his hand on the man's scrawny shoulder.

The same couldn't be said about the two young men. They had almost turned red and their faces of incredulity were by far the most amusing sight Gwaine had had the pleasure of enjoying recently. Shooting a glance around, the knight saw that others had started to notice something was going on there.

He smiled crookedly. "You better listen to George here, lads..." he told them, his tone friendly. "You're lucky it was him that put you in your place. If it was up to me it would have been much more painful, you can be sure of that..." he added, letting the warmth disappear from his voice. He wasn't joking at all.

The villagers nodded their heads, too afraid of adding anything that might anger the knight, and walked away, probably going to find the rest of their group.

Beside him George deflated. Gwaine regarded him carefully. The servant seemed so... out of place. Like he really didn't belong there, between fighters. Merlin had never given him that impression as long as he had known him. That had been another detail about Merlin that he, and many others, had missed or, better, misjudged. A real servant wouldn't take part in a battle, not really. If he did he would look like George did now, scared and lost. Although, Gwaine had to give it to him, he also did look determined. But he had every right to be afraid. He was going to battle with no experience, no armour, nothing but an old sword and the knowledge that he was serving his King.

"You have no armour, am I right?" the knight asked. He knew the answer of course. In Herdsdale, they had only managed to find some weapons, so the knights were the only ones wearing an armour.

"No, Sir."

Gwaine contemplated. The plan dictated the knights would go in first, leaving the four young men and George to trail behind them. Their part was to try and free as many of the captured knights of Camelot as possible. But at least the four villagers had some experience with the sword and a good constitution. George could barely block a mild attack. He was clearly the most vulnerable member of their party.

How had it been that it had never crossed anyone's mind how Merlin never wore any protective gear but always made it in the end? _How incredibly stupid of us not to have noticed..._

"Come," he said, pushing the smaller man lightly. "Let's see what we can do about that..."

* * *

"Here," Declan said, offering Lucan a flask. "The physician, Gaius, he said we should all take a sip from this,"

He had found the Prince of Ostia sitting on the outskirts of their temporary camp, where he had ended up probably in his attempt to get as far away as possible from the knights of Camelot and their leader. Declan hadn't been surprised by that at all. He knew his friend well and Lucan's disdain for Arthur Pendragon had only grown bigger the more time he spent in the other man's company. Seeing Merlin was busy with preparations and in no mood for chatter either, Lucan was left with little to do but wait.

The prince eyed the flask doubtfully. "What's in it?" he asked carefully.

_Ever a man of caution._

"It's a potion he worked on last night," the Druid replied, not bothering to hide his amusement. "I helped a bit. It's supposed to help you replenish your strength, your stamina..."

Lucan didn't look convinced at all.

"Don't worry, I've seen it before. Some Druid clans still use it. He must have used a spell to make it, too," Declan added.

But the Prince wasn't moving at all. He wasn't even looking at the Druid's direction any longer. Declan rolled his eyes and uncorked the flask.

He took a large gulp. The taste was positively _foul_. That old man just had to have done it on purpose. Nothing should feel like this. He glanced at his friend, sitting there buried in his thoughts and decided that the Prince needed to get over whatever it was he was pinning about.

_Probably thinking about Merlin... Again._

"Mmm... Not bad," he exclaimed, raising an eyebrow when Lucan turned to see what he was referring to. It worked. This time Lucan took the offered item without any complaints. He sipped from it, slowly.

His face of disgust had Declan chuckling like a naughty child. _The old tricks never fail..._ He stopped though as soon as he realized that the Prince hadn't even cracked a smile.

"Lucan..." he started, genuinely concerned for his friend. He followed the Prince's gaze. He had guessed correctly then.

"Have you talked to him yet?" the Druid asked as he joined Lucan in watching Merlin talk with Alator in the distance.

After a few moments came the quiet answer. "Not since last night, no."

Well, Merlin did have a lot on his plate right now. It was logical for the warlock not to have enough time for the Prince of Ostia, but Declan knew the toll all this was taking on Lucan. His insecurity was beginning to show.

"I see..." he offered, trying to make the other man open up to him a bit more.

"I think he spoke with Arthur again," Lucan said, finally.

_I see... Well that would certainly explain this._

"Did you actually see them? Did they fight?" he wondered.

Lucan let out a low sigh, turning his eyes from the warlock to the Druid. He shrugged, clearly not knowing the answer. "Maybe they did, maybe not. Who knows..."

It alarmed Declan to see his friend in this state. Ever since this whole ordeal had started, Lucan had always been determined. He always knew what he was doing, why he was doing it for. And despite the fact that Declan hadn't agreed with all his choices, the Druid had been confident enough that at least the Prince was being true to his heart.

Now, though, was the first time Declan had seen Lucan look so afraid and uncertain. At that moment, he wished he knew what was going on inside his mind.

As if sensing his friends desire, or just because he knew the Druid would always be there to share the burden with him, Lucan spoke once more.

"I just..." he said and paused, lifting his eyes to face Declan's. He must have found courage in them, because when he continued he sounded more like the man Declan knew. "It was so _strange_ to see him like that. Merlin I mean. He was so angry and hurt..."

The Druid couldn't help but nod along. It had been a surprise for him as well, the way Emrys had reacted upon seeing the King of Camelot again. If he were to be honest with himself, Declan had been afraid the warlock's resolve to leave Camelot would crumble when faced with the man that had been such a huge part of Merlin's life. If anything it appeared to make him even more detached. He searched for the warlock again, but this time he couldn't find him in his field of vision.

Lucan's voice brought him back from his thoughts. "He still _hurts_ so much. I thought he had moved past that... that _we_ had helped him move past that..."

Declan waited for him to continue. When he didn't, the Druid turned to find the Prince staring right at him. "I thought I was doing him good, Declan," he said, sounding grave. "Have I been wrong?"

Declan took his time to think. Indeed, it was something he himself had wondered on many occasion in the past, before they had first come to Camelot. Should they intervene with destiny? Should Lucan uncover the secret the man had fought to protect for years? Did he even have the right to know about that secret in the first place?

It was no use thinking over these things now. What was done was done and no one can change it. What mattered was that Lucan had had the best intentions, had honestly tried to do the best with what he had.

He shook his head, knowing what he needed to say to the other man. "You did what your heart told you was right. You _freed_ him," he stated simply and he believed it wholeheartedly. "But..." he added, seeing Lucan had relaxed, if only infinitesimally, "It's up to _Merlin_ to decide who he wants to be now, my friend."

Lucan stared at him, as if disappointed. "Yeah, I know..."

The movement coming from the centre of the camp meant that their rest was over and the party was once more moving. They started to get up.

"Declan?" Lucan called, as the Druid moved to head towards the other. He stopped to raise an eyebrow, questioning.

"Do me a favour?" the Prince asked.

"What?" he replied though as he did, he felt dread rising inside him. He didn't like that look in Lucan's eyes at all. He must have shown it cause next thing he knew Lucan was coming towards him, whispering fiercely. "You _know_ I can't let him go through with this plan. Not when..."

"_Lucan!_" Declan interrupted, immediately. Alarmed. Lucan's eyes betrayed the storm of emotions raging inside. He held the Druids gaze, challenging him, daring the man to try and stop him. Declan swore inwardly. _Damn his stubbornness._

Recognizing he won the fight, Lucan's gaze softened. "Cover for me, when the time comes, will you?"

Of course he would. If he couldn't stop him doing what he had in mind then why not help him? "Just promise me you won't do anything stupid..." he added, deflated.

He almost believed the Prince when he answered. "I won't."

"Won't be an idiot or won't promise me?"

Lucan smiled. "Take your pick."

* * *

"Emrys..." he heard Alator call him. Merlin lifted his eyes in time to see the older man taking a seat beside him.

"I have what you asked here," he said, opening up the palm of his hand to reveal two small, white crystals. They shone brightly in the morning light.

"The enchantment I've placed will only work once for each direction. It should be enough. It must be kept on your person at all times, make sure you won't miss the signal when it comes." With that, the Catha Priest placed one of the two identical items on Merlin's hands while he returned the other to one of his pouches.

Merlin nodded his thanks. He quickly tucked it in a pocket. "What about the amulet?" he inquired.

Alator shook his head. "I'm sorry. I didn't have the necessary ingredients to make that one. But there is always the _enchantment_..."

Merlin didn't bother to hide his disappointment. "It would have worked much better if we had an amulet for it to focus on," he said, frustrated.

_I'll have to make do with the spell then..._

"You're powerful enough to keep the enchantment for as long as it takes. I have faith in you, Merlin," the other man stated simply.

Merlin wasn't surprised. It wasn't the first time Alator of the Catha showed his faith in him, and the warlock hoped it wouldn't be the last either. He was a fine ally. _Could be a good friend too, in time._

A thought occurred to the warlock then. Something he remembered featuring in Arthur's original plan, though Merlin's new one had no apparent need for it.

"Did you make... Arthur that _potion_? The one meant to protect him from magic?"

Would Arthur still have asked for that potion, even though he wouldn't be needing it? And if he did indeed asked for it, what would that mean? Merlin didn't want to think that Arthur could have asked it as a way to protect himself from _him_.

"The King said there wasn't any need for it. Not when the plan has changed. It's for the best. It wouldn't have been very potent, even if I _had_ brewed it. These type of mixtures need time to mature. Like wine..." he answered.

Merlin sighed, relieved. He felt foolish to have even thought of Arthur doing something like that. The other man had made it clear that he accepted magic now.

_In spite of that little _incident_ out in the fields..._

"Thank you, Alator," he said finally.

The older man just smiled in return. When he left, Merlin took out the small piece of parchment the Catha had prepared for him the night before. The words of the Old Tongue emitted power even in their written form. Like all the other powerful spells he had encountered before, this one too called out to him and his magic.

He was startled to hear someone else calling him. "Merlin!" he turned around and saw Gwaine. The knight was gesturing him to come. He looked strangely suspicious, like he was doing a mischief or something equally _Gwaine-ish._

"What?" the warlock asked carefully when he got to the other man, curious as to what would his friend want with him. He couldn't help but feel a little bit excited too. This reminded him so much of the _good_ old times, when he and Gwaine had fun messing around with the others.

"We need your help," the knight answered, rather secretively.

Merlin shot a very Gaius-like eyebrow hearing Gwaine's choice of words. "_We_..._?_"

Gwaine merely pointed behind him. And there, almost hiding behind a bush, was George, the bane of Merlin's existence, at least as his former role of manservant to the King. Merlin had been more than surprised to first see George beside Arthur. For a moment, back then, he had felt oddly betrayed at the thought of being replaced so quickly, never mind that it was him that had left in the first place. After hearing the servant's side of the story though, he had come to grudgingly respect the man. He had proven himself unfailingly loyal thus far.

_Unlike you..._

As George got up and reluctantly approached them, Gwaine corrected himself. "Actually, not we. Just my _friend_ George here..."

Well that was certainly unexpected. Merlin had gotten the impression the servant wouldn't want to have anything to do with him.

Gwaine rushed in to explain. "It occurred to me how dangerous a battlefield can prove to be for an untrained _servant_..."

Merlin chuckled softly. The innuendo was too obvious. "Of course it did. Not everyone can be a secret sorcerer, can they?" His muttered comment had a very different effect on the other two people. Gwaine could barely contain his mirth whereas George seemed even more alarmed than before_._ _He probably fears I'll accuse him of sorcery next..._

Gwaine's face quickly sobered. He shot an almost guilty glance at Merlin, but the warlock could see past that. They joked about it now, but the fact remained that no one of his friends ever thought of giving him any armour. If it weren't for his magic he'd probably have been the first one to fall in a fight.

Shaking his head, he dismissed the thought. It wasn't anything new, him being overlooked. And he had already forgiven Gwaine. Just the fact that the knight had 'learned his lesson', had showed interest for the wellbeing of a servant he wasn't even particularly close to, was proof enough he had been right to do so.

Now he had the chance to do what others hadn't done for him. Not that there was a lot he could do without the proper equipment or ingredients. They barely had enough for the spells and potions vital for his plan's success as they were.

After contemplating for a while, he was even more frustrated than before. There weren't any spells he could think of that would have a lasting effect. Perhaps if he had his old magic book, or the new ones he had gotten in Ostia, maybe he would have more options left.

He hated feeling so helpless. He was free to use his magic, but still he felt so frustratingly _limited_ by his inexperience. Defensive magic, protection spells, like healing, they too required time and practice to master. Blowing things up was the least complicated thing in the world.

"I can't do much, I'm afraid," he concluded. It vexed him more than he had expected to see both Gwaine and George deflate. A thought came to him suddenly. A memory, one that was too precious and loved to ever be forgotten or disregarded. A lesson learned over the true nature of the Old Religion.

"There might be something. Perhaps... I think it could work," he said, feeling not a little uncertain. But the memory of his father praying for Arthur's wounds to heal persisted. He could hear Balinor even now, telling him about the Old Religion, how it could teach him so many things.

"Yes?" Gwaine asked, sounding hopeful again.

Turning to face both the other men, Merlin tried to explain it as best he could. "I could say a... _prayer_, a blessing in the Old Tongue. If anything, at least then you'll have the Old Religion by your side," he paused, suddenly feeling vulnerable. It seemed like he was revealing a secret, sharing something his father had taught him.

"That is if you don't mind me working magic upon you..." he added as an afterthought.

If there had been any doubts in Merlin's mind that his suggestion would be rejected they were drown by Gwaine's enthusiastic response. "Couldn't you do that to all of us then? We could definitely use some luck..."

Even George nodded, reluctantly but with a hint of optimism.

Merlin felt oddly exposed under their eager gaze. "Do you think the others would accept it?" he asked quietly, his voice serious.

Gwaine just looked him in the eyes steadily. "I know so, my friend."

* * *

"What news?" Alined asked impatiently as soon as Trickler entered his chambers. The visiting King's breakfast tray lay untouched on the table, a testament to his growing foul mood, while the King walked back and forth the width of his rooms.

The sorcerer eyed his master carefully. He gulped before he began his report. "Every member of the Bloodguard and the Mercenary troops has been ordered to prepare for battle. They'll be placed all over the courtyard, the upper balconies, by the gates. She has the entire place completely surrounded. She asked for your men to join them too, Sire."

The King nodded, having expected something like that to happen. "Tell the captain of my guard to come see me for his instructions before he moves to join the others. Anything _else_?" he all but barked at the other man.

Trickler seemed even more uncomfortable than usual as he struggled to continue. Alined took that as a sign that _yes, there's more_ and _no, he's not going to like it_.

"Well as a matter of fact, there is something else, Sire..." he began, plastering a very fake smile on his face. It quickly fell off, the moment he met the King's murderous glare. "She, I mean _Morgana_... she requested both you, Sire," he gestured awkwardly, "and _myself_ to attend the execution with her..." he trailed off, cowering away from the other man.

Ignoring Trickler altogether, Alined cursed loudly. "I don't like this. Not at all..." he added as he resumed his pacing.

Now that Morgana had turned into a wild card, unpredictable and thus someone much more dangerous, Alined felt the need to get out even more vehemently than before.

"She thinks she has him cornered, but she could be in for a big surprise. If Arthur has indeed the help of a powerful sorcerer, this _Merlin_, then perhaps we shouldn't be so quick to condemn him..." he muttered, pensively.

Trickler, as if asking for trouble, failed to keep his mouth shut, per usual. "Even with a sorcerer, even with _Emrys_, how could they stand up against an entire army?"

His King shot him a withering look. "You _fool_..." he spat. "Hasn't it even crossed your mind that, while Morgana focuses her entire force and attention to one _specific_ place, she inadvertently leaves all _the other palace_ completely exposed to an attack?"

The sorcerer just widened his eyes, instead of replying. "Arthur is a good strategist, he's bound to figure this out sooner or later..." Alined concluded. He stopped, finally having figured what his next move should be. He walked to his desk and started searching through the various papers sprawled upon it.

"So, what do we do then?" Trickler asked, just as Alined found the documents he was looking for. He lifted them against the light and smiled, satisfied in his plan of action.

"It's simple. We make sure she sings the deeds to the land now, before the execution, and then we get ready. As soon as there's an opportunity we are getting out of here. As fast as we can," he offered.

The sorcerer grinned wickedly. "She'll probably be too thrilled to be roasting her half-brother on the stake to even take notice of our absence..." he noted, gleefully.

Alined was impressed. "That was the first clever thing you've said today... Well done." He walked to the sorcerer and grabbed him by the shoulder, a tad too forcefully. Trickler, the fool, dared an uncertain smile. But the King rewarded him only with a hard shove towards the door.

"Now go! We don't have much time left..."

* * *

The sun had long started its slow descent when the small party first laid eyes on the white castle of Camelot. At first Arthur had found it near impossible to move his eyes from the achingly familiar structure that loomed in the distance. It was the banners, he had concluded. Even from that far, he could make out the black flags that decorated the castle's turrets. It was the thought of finishing this, once and for all that made him pick up his pace, determination written across his tired features.

The wind blew relentlessly, chilling the weary travellers to the bone. They had reached the top of a small hill when Arthur ordered a five minute rest. Looking down, they could see the growing edge of the woods, the only thing separating them from the city. Soon, they would be outside the outer walls.

Arthur's thoughts had calmed down significantly. If he were to attribute it to some factor, then that would be the prayer Merlin had said for all of them.

He had never experienced something quite like it. When Merlin and Gwaine had first approached him and the others with their idea, Arthur had been glad no one had responded negatively, though some –those villagers for example- may had been more reluctant than others. He had thought it was a good way for his knights to get more used to the idea of magic, perhaps even a boost in morale. But he had been doubtful that saying a prayer could actually help in any other way.

Well, at least Arthur had gotten used to being proven wrong...

Merlin had prayed for them all, touching the top of their heads and speaking rich words of the Old Tongue in a slow, almost melancholic voice. Seeing Merlin like that, gave Arthur the impression that he wasn't really a man before him but a spirit, a manifestation of magic and nature that simply took the form of his old friend. But that had only lasted for a few moments. Arthur had felt so strangely afterwards. As if some higher power had reached out to him and offered him comfort. But at the same time it had also given him something to carry, a burden. It felt like his destiny had finally caught up with him. He recognized its essence of greatness and pain as well.

"Arthur?" he heard a familiar voice calling him. Merlin came and stood by his side.

"We should get going. Have to make it down there before sunset, remember?" the warlock said matter-of-factly.

Arthur nodded in agreement. As he gave the order to move on and Merlin took off, probably to go find Lucan, he turned to look at his home one more time. Only this time, the image didn't upset him, or cause him grief. Instead, it was like giving him a purpose. Perhaps hearing Merlin talk to him in his usual calm tone, something he hadn't experienced in a while, had helped too.

That was his home. His people lived there. His family, his friends. He wouldn't let any of them suffer in Morgana's hands. He promised himself that, even if it was the last thing he would do, he _would _see them free once more.

* * *

She had dressed almost automatically, her mind miles away while her hands were working. She chose to let her hair down, like she used to wear them when she had been just a simple serving girl.

Morgana's men had come at lunch time, carrying not only the usual tray of food but a large basin, buckets of water and one of Guinevere's best dresses. They'd said that _her majesty_ wanted Gwen to look presentable tonight. Gwen had to literally hold off Mithian from attacking the two guards.

Now the Princess of Nemeth was sitting by the window, glaring at the troops gathering in the courtyard below. Gwen refused to think of what other things, or contraptions, she might be glaring at.

She knew that, as Queen, she had to appear strong, up until her final moments, which might very well be too close for comfort. Only in the privacy of these chambers-turned-prison, had she let herself show how terrified she was. For herself, for Arthur, for Elyan. For her people and friends. Thankfully, Mithian had been there to give her comfort and a shoulder to cry on, as trite as it might have sounded.

Ever since she had returned from her visit to Gaius' chambers, though, unsuccessful in procuring anything useful -other than a vial of valerian that Gwen had eventually forced the shaken girl to drink-, and strangely unwilling to discuss what had taken place there, Mithian's behaviour had changed dramatically. She refused to talk about it and gave sharp, almost angry responses whenever Gwen would try to ask.

"She has a _sick_ sense of humour, doesn't she?" Gwen heard Mithian comment bitterly.

"Dressing you up like you are her play thing..." the other woman finished.

Gwen looked at Mithian's angry face. Her eyes were red and her face looked almost swollen. Gwen wondered how caught up in her own thoughts she had been to miss Mithian crying.

Once more she felt fear rise in her. Even if her trial would come to an end tonight, Mithian's wouldn't. And the Princess seemed like she had realized that as well.

"I don't care about Morgana. I won't waste another thought on her," Gwen answered, passionately. She walked to where Mithian was, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. It was strange that, so close to her... _fate_, she wasn't the one that needed comforting.

_I have moved past that..._

"My friend... It was _you_ who told me to have faith. And I've decided that this is what I'm going to do. I _believe_ in Arthur. We know he has a sorcerer aiding him. Perhaps he even..."

_Changed. Found Merlin. Got him to come back. Forgive us. _

She sighed. Gwen really hoped that at least Arthur had had the chance to talk to Merlin again. Knowing her husband, she was certain that he was brave enough to risk his life tonight, in the attempt to save her from Morgana. She also knew how dangerous this would prove for him, no matter what plan he might have devised. She wished for him to at least have had the chance to work things out with his best friend before he would have to face his murderous half-sister.

Mithian looked her in the eyes, seeing right through her once again troubled expression. She nodded, even tried to smile to her, though it was clearly forced.

"I'm sorry, Gwen. You're right... Have faith in them."

What she didn't say though, something that Gwen knew the princess must be thinking, was that, in the end, there was nothing else they could do.

* * *

"This is it..." Arthur said, seeing the familiar landscape unravelling before him. Everybody halted.

"Here we separate," he announced, turning to look at the others. He caught Merlin's gaze. The path on their left led directly to the gates of the city. The secret entrance to the tunnels was well hidden in the other direction. They had yet to encounter any patrols around the city and Arthur felt confident that they wouldn't find any even if they had been looking. From what they had gathered watching the castle's battlements as they had been moving closer, there weren't even any guards placed there.

He had guessed correctly, or so it would seem. Morgana's strong-headedness would be her undoing. She had become too careless.

_Perhaps freeing the knights will be easier than expected,_ he mused.

As the travellers made to move once again, now focused on the plan of action, Arthur hurried to catch Merlin before they split.

"Merlin, wait!" he said, not risking to raise his voice too much. The warlock, who at that time had been with Lucan, turned to look at him.

"What?" he asked. Arthur saw Merlin too was now carrying a sword.

The King didn't fail to miss the cold glare Lucan was sending him. He ignored the other man and focused his attentions on his former manservant. His _friend_. He wanted to tell him so many things but didn't know how.

Merlin tilted his head questioningly. It made Arthur find courage to speak. They really had no more time to lose. Darkness would fall soon. Gwen's time was running out.

"Good luck," he wished him.

The corner of Merlin's mouth lifted, giving the impression of a half-smile. It might have been a trick of the fleeing sunlight, but Arthur thought Merlin's eyes had brightened as well.

"You too," the warlock replied.

* * *

The streets of Camelot's lower town were completely void of life, save for the lonely figure of a man walking steadily towards his destination. Shadows covered most of the path to the inner castle. Sundown was near and the warmth of the sun replaced by the howling wind.

He passed by many houses with closed doors and barred windows. More than once he thought he saw scared eyes peaking behind curtains. He hoped that no one would be foolish enough to venture out of the relative safety their homes provided.

At this point most people in Camelot must be, not only unarmed, but half starved as well.

The first signal had come mere minutes ago. The others were finally in place. He put his hand inside his pocket to feel the item's rough surface. He didn't falter his pace though. Up ahead, he could see the main gate that led to the castle's courtyard. He squeezed the crustal in his fist and concentrated on the word that would activate the spell. He saw soldiers in the distance, leaving their posts by the gate, probably alerting the people inside of his arrival.

"_**Gearu!" **_he hissed and waited as the crystal started getting warmer and warmer, until it was almost painful for him to stand. He let it go after a few more moments of near agony, satisfied the message had been passed. He was ready.

Not wasting any more time he walked through the gate into the hands of his enemy. If he had turned then, perhaps he would have seen the _other_ lone figure, clad in a dark cloak, following him closely through the growing shadows.

Inside, it was exactly as he had expected. Everywhere around him he could see soldiers, men holding spears or wielding swords, archers on top of the turrets and balconies. He was completely surrounded. Surprisingly no one moved to intercept him. He quickly understood the reason. He would have to be blind to miss it.

The stake was built on the exact same spot where Uther Pendragon had executed hundreds of men and women, people that had been found guilty of the crime of sorcery. Up on it now though was not a magic user, but the rightful Queen of Camelot. He spared one look on her slight form, unable to make out the details of her face from that far.

He focused on the figures that were standing in formation beside the stacks of woods, slowly moving towards them. King Alined was there and so was his sorcerer, Trickler. Most of the others looked like members of the Bloodguard. Surprisingly enough, Mithian was there too. She was held in place with her hands trapped behind her back, probably tied, by a huge man with an ugly scar on his face. He had never seen her look more afraid.

And, in front of them all, stood Morgana, looking as fair and deadly as always. The witch's eyes glinted first with mere excitement and then with gold and he felt his sword fall from his hip.

With Morgana's signal, two of her men walked to him and grabbed him by the arms. He was forced to go on his knees before her. Her expression was triumphant to say the least.

"Glad to see you again, brother."

* * *

A/N: Ok, you should have expected the cliffhanger ending, really…

Please leave a review. I'd love to see what you think will happen next. ;)


	17. Chapter 16: Games of War

A/N: Sorry for the long wait guys! In my defense, not only real life has been very busy lately, but I also had a week of writer's block and then some problems with the chapter's structure. In the end I had to cut the chapter I had originally planned in half.

But I'm quite pleased with the outcome. I hope you'll find it a fun read!

* * *

**Chapter 16: Games of war**

The air inside the tunnels smelled profusely of dirt and decay. It made the already heavy atmosphere almost insufferable and left Declan feeling as if he'd suffocate.

They were all walking in a long line, slowly, with only the light of a few torches there to help them see, as they navigated through the dark passages beneath the castle. The Druid had deliberately slowed down his pace so that he'd ended up being in the rear. Lucan had left almost as soon as they entered the tunnels, but, fortunately for Declan, everyone else had been too focused on what lay ahead of them to glance back and take notice of the Prince's absence.

He knew very well, though, that his luck was bound to run out sooner or later.

They'd been going on for almost half an hour when one of the villagers that had been walking in front of him stumbled and fell, making not only his other three companions turn back and come at his aid, but two of the knights as well. Sir Lamorak and Sir Gwaine. Declan hurried to help the lad get back on his feet, trying to make as little fuss as possible. For a moment, he thought no one had realized that something, or better yet some_one,_ was missing.

He was wrong.

"Wait a moment…" Sir Gwaine said, raising his torch higher to have a better look. "Where's _Lucan_?" he added. Declan swore inwardly when he saw the knight's eyes narrowing slightly.

Declan met Gwaine's eyes calmly, reacting fast under the growing suspicion. He had already thought of an excuse. "We heard a _noise_ coming from one of the side tunnels. The Prince is just checking to see if everything is fine," he answered smoothly.

Seeing the other man didn't look very convinced, he added jokingly. "Don't worry. Probably a rat or something…"

Having spent years around royal courts and nobles, he knew well enough not to let his stare falter if he wanted to convince the knight he was telling the truth. Indeed, after a moment's hesitation, Sir Gwaine nodded and turned back, hurrying his step to catch up with the others.

The Druid watched him go both glad and guilty that his lie had passed so easily. He sighed. Wishing one more time that Lucan knew what he was doing, Declan trailed behind the knight.

Not long after that, they finally arrived at their destination. The tunnel they had been following had led them to a dark, completely empty room. It was Alator that announced it, making sure he kept his voice down.

"We're here."

It was barely large enough to accommodate all of them.

Again, Lucan's absence went unnoticed. Not only had Gwaine joined his fellow knights away from Declan, but the light was so low, with only one torch held close to the far wall, that Declan had difficulty recognizing the men around him.

Under closer inspection, Declan spotted the vague outline of a door on the wall across the room's entrance, barely visible in the dim light. There was a gap there too, a small, square hole that, at first glance, looked like it had no real purpose, but the Druid wasn't fooled. He had seen such contraptions before. _A lever must be hidden there_, he thought, _one that opens the secret door that leads to Camelot's dungeons._

His attention moved back to Alator as the sorcerer stood before the hidden door and fumbled with his cloak for a bit to procure a small object out of one of a pocket. He watched him murmur a spell and the item, a crystal, glowed like it was on fire.

"It's done. Now we wait…" Alator whispered, as if talking to himself. All the others around him tensed but stayed silent.

They didn't have to wait too long for the answering signal to come. The crystal glowed again. A deep, crimson-gold colour that left Declan momentarily thinking of Camelot's banners.

_He's ready to walk into the trap. _

All eyes unconsciously turned to the man leaning against the wall, by the secret entrance. The time had come for them to fight.

"You all know what you have to do. Act fast…" King Arthur said in a low voice. He sounded firm and determined. The men nodded, Declan as well. Despite all their differences, in this fight they all stood united against one common enemy.

"Good luck," he heard the King conclude. Remembering Merlin's blessing, mere hours ago, the Druid let himself smile.

With the Old Religion by their side, who needed luck?

* * *

Guinevere flinched when a pair of rough hands forcibly grabbed her by the shoulder. Another soldier behind her cut the ropes binding her to the stake. But soon, her eyes seeked Arthur's form and when she spotted him again, her fair King, her _love_, kneeling unarmed, defenseless, before his step-sister, something inside her broke. Tears that had welled up in her eyes now flowed freely down her cheeks.

She was all but dragged off the pyre, her legs trembling with every step, as if they would fail her at any second.

The strength she had shown when she had been first tied up to that post had left her the moment she saw Arthur's lone figure walk in the courtyard.

No knights, no back up. No _Merlin_.

Nothing but a sword on his hip. At least if George had succeeded in his task, then perhaps Arthur now carried the _magic_ sword, the one that actually gave him a chance against Morgana. But, to her horror, it had only taken a glance from the witch to disarm the fallen King of Camelot and Guinevere watched horrified as he was captured by Morgana's men.

She found it in her heart that she couldn't care less about what would happen to her. Not when her husband was about to die, taking her place.

Morgana was gleaming with joy and malice when her men brought Guinevere to stand before her. Arthur was so close to her now, still kneeling, his head lowered, as if ashamed, his shoulders hunched.

"Now, isn't this nice? A family reunion just before the…well, _the_ _end_, really. Hmm?" she taunted. When Arthur didn't even bother to look up, let along answer, Morgana's eyes flared up viciously and Arthur's body jerked up, his face grimacing in pain. "Oh come on, Arthur. Don't be like that!"

Guinevere looked closer, her heart aching at her King's suffering. She took in every detail of his appearance. It only made her want to scream in frustration and despair as she realized that he wasn't even wearing a _chainmail_. His clothes were dark and unfamiliar, but would offer no kind of protection in a fight. She shivered.

_He came here to sacrifice himself._

She shut her eyes, trying to stop more tears from falling. They really didn't have any chance, did they? Morgana had truly won this time. There was no one else coming. No back up, no re-enforcements. Not even Merlin. Arthur, her noble, self-sacrificing Arthur had left everyone behind, had come to offer his life for his wife to keep her own.

"As much as I love seeing you two like this, and believe me I _love_ it, we really should get on with our _plans_ here, don't you think?" Morgana's mockingly sweet voice made Gwen look back to the witch.

Morgana gestured for the guards holding Arthur in place to get him to his feet, and when they were face to face, she tilted her head, pondering.

"I really thought you'd bring _him_ with you, you know..." she told him, and Guinevere realized she was talking about Merlin. The way she had avoid using his name, like it was cursed. Like she feared it. Even her tone had lacked its taunting character, had been almost detached. Dangerous.

That lasted less than a heartbeat. Morgana quickly made a dismissing gesture with her hand, placing a fake smile on her face. "It's such a pity. I would have loved to make him watch you _burn_, Arthur."

Guinevere couldn't suppress a small whimper seeing the gleam in Morgana's eyes hearing her condemning Arthur once again. The witch turned towards her, shooting her a disinterested glance.

"I promise _your Queen's_ life will be spared. After all, you held your end of the deal and it's so hard to find good servants these days…" she said cruelly. Guinevere couldn't find any comfort in her words. Why should she care for a life like that? A life without Arthur, without love, hope and friendship. "But I will kill _him, _though. Your _serving boy_," Morgana added, leaning towards Arthur and almost whispering into his ear. When he tried to move away from her, she stepped back.

"Emrys and I … Like you and him, we _too_ are, in a way, each other's destiny."

And then, she was once again facing Guinevere, smirking as always. "Go on, then. Say goodbye to your husband."

At Morgana's order, the soldiers holding both her and Arthur relaxed their grip, and Guinevere didn't waste any time. She stepped closer, feeling the pressing need to hug her husband and never let him go, but she was still restrained. She managed to lean close to him, and felt his breath on the side of her face. A moment passed and she finally found enough strength to look him in the eyes.

His face was inches away from her own, but something was… wrong. The way he looked at her, his eyes… Guinevere frowned slightly. He even smelled strange.

"_Arthur_-" she began, a whisper.

"Don't worry, _Gwen_…" he cut her, turning, so that his mouth almost touched her ear as he spoke.

Morgana must have gotten tired of their brief reunion, or even ordered Arthur to be put to the stake, because the soldier holding Guinevere in place pulled her harshly behind as Arthur was dragged back towards the pyre.

The true Queen of Camelot found herself placed beside Mithian, as she watched Morgana's men tying her King at the stake. Something was nagging her though… An _instinct_, telling her that she had missed something important. Vital.

It was only when Arthur turned his head and fixed her with his gaze that Guinevere figured it out.

Gwen. He had said _Gwen_.

Not Guinevere.

But… Arthur _always_ called her Guinevere.

* * *

George pressed himself harder into the cold stone wall, hiding in the darkness. He could do this. He had already done something similar when he had escaped the city, this wouldn't be different. Actually, come to think of it, it should be easier! This time he had back up, and not just any back up, but the _King of Camelot_ himself, as well as knights and even sorcerers!

He even felt different. Though his heart was beating fast, George wasn't actually scared, he was … excited. He _wanted_ to help free his home and friends from Morgana's rule. Not for the first time that evening, he found himself wondering if Merlin's blessing had something to do with his newfound confidence.

He shivered at the memory. Never before had he experienced something so different, _abnormal_ and yet so very… natural. Was that what magic really felt like?

He took one deep breath to calm himself. The guards hadn't noticed anything was amiss. They were gathered at the other end of the long hallway, near the entrance of the dungeons.

_Probably bored to death and playing dice_.

If George was right in his calculations, they were more or less fifteen men. And then of course there was that Stone Golem giant creature. Just thinking about it made George's blood run cold. The only positive thing was that the magical creature, being so _big,_ didn't fit inside the dungeon's corridors. So they should have enough time to eliminate the guards before they'd be forced to deal with the Golem. That was _if_ everything went according to plan.

From behind him, George heard a small knock. The others were beginning to worry. He berated himself for losing focus, even if only for a little while. He knew well enough they had limited time. They needed to free Camelot's army as soon as possible. He looked across the hall, to the familiar sight of the door to Morgana's torture chamber. Checking if anyone was looking at his direction –they weren't-, George knocked once on the wall behind him to let the others know he was moving, and then ran towards the room, opening the door and closing it with a loud bang.

He found himself in the dark, taking small backward steps away from the door. His ears were buzzing and he could barely hear the commotion outside as the guards obviously came to check on the source of the noise. The door creaked slowly, flickering light appearing from the one side and then it opened to let two guards step inside, smirking at the sight of the cowering small man.

The next moment both men fell to the ground hit by King Arthur's sword, the blade gleaming even in the half light of the dungeons.

* * *

Arthur listened closely as the steps of the guards became louder and louder, betraying their growing proximity. Beside him, Gwaine unsheathed his sword, he too getting ready to attack. Arthur flexed his muscles, adjusting to the unfamiliar chainmail, originally belonging to Sir Brenn. The knight was almost the same height as Arthur but had slightly different frame, little broader shoulders and a little more stomach to boot.

_And Merlin used to call _me_ fat... _

He had gallantly offered to go into battle with only a leather mail, if it meant that his King would be better protected. Arthur didn't like it, but couldn't disagree. He just had to have faith in Brenn's prowess with the sword.

The footsteps of Morgana's men outside stopped and Arthur took that as a signal to move.

He pushed the hidden lever once more and the secret door opened effortlessly. He saw five of the guards standing in front of him, all facing the door on the opposite wall. Two of them had just opened it.

Arthur unsheathed his sword, the sound of the metal echoing in the relatively silent corridor and the soldiers barely had time to turn around before they were felled by his blade.

It all became a blur. Arthur found himself running towards the rest of the guards, joined by his knights and allies.

"Hurry! Don't let them warn Morgana!" he shouted as he blocked another attack, bringing his sword in front of him defensively. He caught glimpse of Gwaine and Lamorak fighting two other men beside him, noted the latter looking like he had taken a hit but persistently carried on.

He quickly dealt with his own opponent, landing a heavy hit on the man's belly that made the other fold in half with pain and then a hard knock on the head with the hilt of his sword to render him unconscious and he was done and moving on.

As he and the knights pressed forward, clashing with the rest of Morgana's men, a bolt of white power shot from behind traveled across the corridor and Arthur barely had time to see it hit another soldier on the back, one who had just reached the stairs to the upper levels of the castle.

_That was close._

He could hear the cheers of his men, the imprisoned Knights of Camelot who were watching their fellow knights' and King's attempt to set them free, and they urged him to go on, fight with even greater vigor. Soon, they would be joining him as well, if everything went according to plan. Gaius, along with George and the villagers should already be trying to set them free.

A hoarse voice rose from his right and he was abruptly thrown backwards by an invisible force. He managed to recover quickly, just in time to see a ball of flames engulfing the form of a man that had been hiding in the shadows. The King turned and saw Lucan's Druid friend, Declan, lowering his hand, panting from the effort of the spell.

"You are welcome," the Druid offered simply, and Arthur gulped at the implication of what had just happened and then nodded his thanks in return. He'd already known to expect that some of Morgana's men might have magic, but coming up against one of her sorcerers, even if he was a weak one, was still frustrating. He hoped the sorcerers fighting for Camelot would prevail over the ones fighting for Morgana.

His mind traveled to Merlin, and he let himself worry about the other man just for a moment. He had to trust in the warlock and his abilities. After all, Merlin knew what he was doing, he had made that very clear to all of them.

A glance around him revealed that most of the guards had fallen, and the rest were soon to follow. More importantly though, Arthur saw that their ranks had been re-enforced as his once captured men now joined their brothers in arms. Arthur noticed most looked the worse for wear, but still they seemed determined to fight, even give their lives for their King and kingdom. A few eyes were wide seeing Alator, a man they'd seen minutes ago use magic, standing behind their King. He chose to ignore them, for the time being.

With the ghost of a smile on his face, Arthur focused once again on what lay ahead of him. He gripped his sword tightly in hand and took a step forward, ready to come face to face with Morgana's _little_ pet.

* * *

It was extremely cold up on the highest balcony of the west wing. The two mercenaries positioned there, one holding a crossbow, the other a crudely made bow, had a great view of the entire courtyard, though their attention was solely focused on the single figure tied on the stake.

That was why they failed to notice the third man, standing behind them, until it was too late.

After disposing the two soldiers, Lucan took the crossbow in hand and looked for a spot on the balcony that could provide him with both a clear view and a cover.

And then, he waited.

* * *

He was lead to climb up the few steps of the small dais, and then he was tied onto the pole at the center of the pyre. The rope cut roughly into his wrists, but Merlin didn't care, he had barely registered it at all. He concentrated on keeping the illusion in place, to keep Morgana from realizing who it really was she had tied up to the stake for execution. It hadn't escaped him how Gwen, initially distraught with grief, was now eyeing him with speculation, suspicion even.

He wasn't afraid she would give him away though. No, if there was one thing Guinevere Pendragon wasn't, that was stupid.

The irony of his situation didn't escape him at all. There he was, a man who had hidden his secret for years due to the fear of execution upon discovery, _willingly_ choosing the fate he'd spent years dreading_. _But he knew of course this wasn't the same. He wasn't a scared young boy, too terrified of everything around him to even think of fighting back, and these weren't Camelot's men, the good men and knights that were simply following their King's orders.

He was the most powerful sorcerer to ever live and these were his _enemies_.

Merlin closed his eyes briefly as he concentrated on his magic. He wondered how long it would take for Arthur and the others to arrive, hoping that they would catch Morgana off guard, though he couldn't help but fear that any moment now the warning bells would sound, alerting the witch and her army they were actually under attack.

Even if that didn't happen though, there was still a chance that Morgana would feel it when the Stone Golem would be destroyed, since it was, in a sense, a manifestation of her magic, her power being the force that brought it to life in the first place. In that case, Merlin would need to improvise. Though, if he wanted to be completely honest with himself, it wasn't as if he hadn't thought about that, or hadn't even planned a few spells for the occasion.

It had been a great surprise for Merlin to find out that the thought of fighting with Morgana as _equals_ – a witch and a warlock, not an old man against a strong young woman- _thrilled_ him. He felt both apprehensive and at the same time impatient about him facing her. His magic thrummed inside him, excited and for the first time in a while, pleased.

_This…_ It felt right.

Morgana spoke again, loud enough to be heard all across the courtyard. She was holding a torch in hand and was walking slowly towards the pyre.

"Tonight will be the beginning of a new era," she said, and her eyes gleamed so that even from afar Merlin could see the madness and the satisfaction inside them.

"Tonight I embrace my destiny as the _last_ High Priestess of the Old Religion. Tonight I choose to eradicate the final remainder of Uther Pendragon's legacy. After tonight, magic will be free once more…" she finished, her voice shaking with emotion. She was standing in front of him, all but trembling with joy, looking strangely vulnerable at her moment of triumph. She held the torch high, a silent salute to the Gods of Old.

Merlin realized that at that moment he was seeing the _true_ Morgana, what was left of King Uther's young ward, hidden underneath layers of hatred, grief and revenge. Truly, Morgana was beyond any help. She was lost to them all, cursed to live a life driven by hatred and powered by malice.

A life Merlin had helped her built for herself.

He thought he probably should be feeling more anxious. If he didn't do anything, Morgana would be lighting up the pyre any moment now.

_Destiny_, she had said. Her destiny.

Was that what destiny truly made out of people? Stressed them out, persistent and unyielding, twisted their minds by forcing them into roles, until they either surrendered completely or went mad?

Was that what would happen to him too? In time? Or worse… had it already began?

He was so tired of it all.

Destiny. Morgana.

Emrys and his Once and Future King.

Of all the expectations and the responsibility.

He hadn't despised his _destiny_ more than he did that moment, standing on the pyre, facing what was left of a woman he had once been calling a friend.

Morgana smiled almost serenely. Her arm descended slowly until the flames of the torch were almost licking the branches sticking out of the neat stacks of wood that surrounded the man she thought was her brother.

Then, suddenly, Morgana's eyes widened and she took a step back as if she had suffered a blow on the chest. But Merlin hadn't used any kind of spell upon her, no matter how much his magic craved for it, apparently sensing that he was in danger.

The torch fell harmlessly to the ground as Morgana slowly regained her composure, a startled, but no less enraged look on her face.

Merlin tensed, understanding that help was finally on their way there, since it looked like what Morgana had just felt was the Golem's demise and that it was time for him to drop the pretenses.

Morgana had turned away from him, now facing the men that had been waiting by the dais as part of her entail, the leaders of her army –Merlin had recognized King Alined and Trickler amongst them- shouting orders and curses to a shocked still audience.

"The dungeons are under attack! Don't just stand there you fools! GO! DO SOMETHING!"

Merlin dropped the illusion with a fleeting thought, his mind concentrating on an entirely new spell. The reaction his transformation caused to the spectators was enough to make even Morgana, who was still shrieking almost unintelligibly, to turn abruptly towards him once again.

Her expression was stunned to say the least. Her pale face lost what little colour it had and her mouth hang open for a moment, before it morphed an infuriated sneer. She narrowed her eyes, and Merlin saw murder written in them.

"_Emrys_," she seethed through clenched teeth.

"Morgana," he answered as he freed his bound hands with a thought.

* * *

George was clinging to his rusty sword as if the item were a shield. It was one thing to say or imagine a battle and a whole other to actually experience one. It had taken an extraordinary amount of courage for him to get out of the dark torture chamber and into the battle. Fortunately for him, by the time he did come out, the King and his men had already cleared the bigger part of the corridor.

Half dazed, George found Gaius lingering over the fallen bodies of the guards.

"Ha!" he heard the physician exclaim satisfied. A heavy set of keys appeared in his hands and he quickly moved towards the closest cell.

"Come on, George, quickly! Help me open these doors…"

George did as he was told, something he always excelled at, while Gaius ordered the village lads to take whatever weapon they could find off of the guards. The knights would need them, after all. Each cell held at least four prisoners -some as many as ten-, and in some cases they weren't even knights. Three members of the council and the steward of the castle had been imprisoned in the last cell George unlocked. But _all_ of the newly freed men were eager to take arms and fight for their homes and their King, despite the fact that many of them weren't in the best condition, some injured, others starved.

Deafening clangs of metal against unyielding stone kept coming from the direction of the entrance to the dungeons, where the King and many of the knights were fighting Morgana's monster. More than once, the floor itself had trembled from what the servant could only speculate was the Stone Golem falling, or worse landing a hit. But George could hear the shouts of the men and King Arthur's commands and, though he wasn't very sure, they gave him the impression that _their_ side was winning. He couldn't contain the grin that spread on his face.

_Of course we would win! _

The sound of someone screaming followed by a loud crash forced George to refocus on the exit area. This time the ground shook so hard George found himself on the floor. As he tried to get up he heard some of the knights shouting for Gaius to come quickly. The old physician moved as fast as he could and George followed him without a second thought.

He could barely recognize the place. Debris were scattered all across the floor, the surrounding walls were half destroyed, full of holes or dark scorch marks, while the stairway to the upper floor had also suffered serious damage.

The Stone Golem, or what was left of it, was trapped in a corner, surrounded by many men, all of them wielding not swords but hammers, maces, even clubs. All but the King, who was swinging his sword –the _magic_ sword that George had brought back to him- menacingly, aiming for the outstretched arms of the creature. The servant took a moment to admire the way King Arthur and the knights were fighting, their tactic obvious but effective nonetheless. Half of them moved closer to the creature, luring it to turn towards them so the rest of the knights could attack from the other side and manage to land their blows, small as they were compare to something as big as a Stone Golem. And George easily saw how successful they were in their endeavors, for the creature missed several pieces on his torso, as well as the greater part of one of his arms.

Near the wall on the right, a bit further from where the fight was taking place, three knights were gathered around a fallen figure. Gaius made his way towards them, George closely behind. The man on the ground was Sir Elyan. He was clearly unconscious but appeared to be breathing.

"He's lucky. He hit his head pretty hard but the bone appears to be intact. We need to wake him up. My bag…" the physician assessed and looked around for the item he had dropped on the floor.

George was closer. He picked the physician's bag, handed it over and then took a few steps back.

A warning coming from behind alerted him of an imminent danger but George barely had time to register it before everything around him started spinning. Pain bloomed from his middle and he felt his body crash on a hard surface and then everything went black. When he opened his eyes it was to see Gaius, closer than he would expect it.

He blinked, and on some level he realized it shouldn't have been so difficult, that his eyelids had never before felt so heavy. He tried hard to concentrate on keeping his eyes open, on looking at Gaius as the other man's voice instructed. After all, George was good at following orders. But Gaius' voice was quickly fading, and the darkness was steadily creeping around him, enveloping him.

The pain was gone and he felt peace.

His last thoughts were of his mother, the memory of her gentle face smiling happily down at her little boy, her golden-brown hair, the colour of brass, shining brightly in the morning light.

* * *

The courtyard had grown absolutely silent. Nobody moved as the two sorcerers were sizing each other up.

For Merlin, time seemed to have slowed down and he realized the exact moment when Morgana decided to _attack_. As she began to raise her hand, Merlin let the world accelerate once again, until it returned to normal and his eyes flashed an angry gold, catching the witch mid spell and sending her flying behind.

All hell broke loose then. The soldiers grabbed their swords and the archers, fired but Merlin had no intention to just stand there and take it. This time he had no reason not to fight back, not to give as good as he got. Hell, even better. He was supposed to be Emrys after all, wasn't he? And _this_, the pure power, the _elemental_ magic, wasn't something he had been taught, as oppose to spells. This was Merlin's true nature.

He created a shield around him to avoid getting hit by the numerous arrows shot to his direction, using nothing but sheer force of will and determination, instead of an incantation. He didn't have time for words, not when Morgana's men were trying to get to him. Belatedly he realized he still hadn't gotten off the pyre, when flames rose around him, as the soldiers threw lit torches on the piles of wood. He groaned, protecting himself from the rising smoke by covering his mouth and nose with one sleeve feeling annoyed, if anything.

He was concentrating on pushing back the smoke and the flames, when inspiration hit him and he flung everything back with a motion similar as when he had sent Morgana flying. This time, the fire shot around the pyre, engulfing everyone that hovered close to it.

Merlin hurried to climb off from the back, where the fire hadn't spread yet. Using the lingering smoke around him to his advantage, he took a moment to hide and contemplate. He had to keep everyone inside the courtyard, to prevent them from going towards Arthur and the dungeons. They needed time to regroup and find weapons, and that was what Merlin had been prepared to offer them.

This time, the spell was necessary. _**"Betimbran ác cluster, áscildan seo cynebotl! Hiersumian! "**_ he hissed and felt his magic obeying his will. The spell had created a barrier in front of each of the entrances to the castle. It would need energy and a lot of concentration on his part for it to remain in place, but Merlin felt confident that the others will be arriving soon.

Another group of guards came closer as the smoke cleared and Merlin roughly shoved them all backwards.

When he walked around the pyre, it was to see the courtyard in a state of complete chaos.

* * *

A/N: Bamf!Merlin! And that was just the beginning.

So… Am I in trouble? George ended up being one of my favorite characters and I must admit it was very difficult for me to write that scene.

I have already written part of the next chapter. Review and I promise you I'll try my best to have it ready as soon as possible. ;)

The spell roughly translates to : _Build a barrier, protect the palace. Obey!_


	18. Chapter 17: Battle and Blood

A/N: Ok… So I know I said I would update sooner, but come on… After seeing 5x05 I needed a cooling off period before I got back into finishing the chapter. Those of you who have seen it probably know what I'm talking about.

Once more I'd like to thank all of you who review anonymously! Thank you so much guys for your support!

Warning: this chapter is a game-changer. Kind of… But NOT in the way you'll be expecting.

* * *

**Chapter 17: Battle and Blood**

Lucan held his breath as Merlin dropped the illusion to reveal his true identity. Thankfully the sheer shock of it had made everyone freeze for a long moment, long enough for the prince to take aim at Morgana. He readied his crossbow to fire before she'd have the chance to attack Merlin but, once again, the warlock surprised him, and everybody else, when he decided to attack _first_. The witch was promptly knocked off her feet, flying backwards to land harshly on the ground.

Lucan followed her movement and cursed as her Bloodguard gathered around her, effectively blocking his field of vision. He quickly realized though that he didn't have time to waste lingering on Morgana, not when Merlin was being attacked again and this time by, well, by _everyone else_.

When the first shots were fired, Lucan sprung into action, firing one bolt after the other as fast as he could. First he aimed the men situated on the other balconies, thankfully lower than himself, and after that the men on the turrets above.

Prince Lucan of Ostia might not have been the best warrior in the five kingdoms, but he had always been an _excellent_ marksman. To say those men were caught completely off guard was a major understatement. They simply didn't stand a chance against the determined man.

He managed to dispose almost all of them -at least those he could actually see in the growing darkness-, before he turned his attention back to the forces gathered bellow. A fire had broken, filling the air with smoke and ash and painting the entire scene before him red and gold. He gathered that Merlin had already taken care of the soldiers that could pose an immediate threat to him, so he focused on the rest of the troops. They were slowly moving towards the burning pyre, surrounding the sorcerer, who was thankfully still concealed in clouds of smoke, but sooner or later they would have him completely trapped.

There was only one thing Lucan could think of that might work: Create panic amongst the enemy's ranks. Make them believe there was more than one threat.

Anything to take the attention from Merlin, anything to aid his friend.

He fired purposefully inside their still tightly held formations, and the men began to fall, not expecting an attack from anywhere other than Merlin.

Lucan smiled almost cruelly.

It worked quite efficiently for a few crucial minutes, until someone managed to do what the rest of Morgana's men couldn't: he _spotted_ Lucan. The prince soon found himself forced to duck, burying his head between his knees, as arrows started flying around him, making it nearly impossible for him to locate his attacker's whereabouts. In the corner of his eye he saw that he also had a only couple of bolts left to go.

_Isn't that just great?_ he thought bitterly, cringing his teeth and tightening his grasp on his weapon.

But again, the sound of the battle raging reminded him of his purpose. There wasn't any time for him to cower away while Merlin was facing who knew what down there. With a newfound determination he peaked over his hiding place, desperately trying to find his assailant.

Something moved on a turret to his left from where he was, and the light of the fire that was still raging at the courtyard reflected briefly upon metal surface. A man's armor. Lucan didn't think twice. He brought the crossbow up, took aim and shot. One bolt, then another. His last.

The second one thankfully found its target.

He disregarded the now useless weapon, taking the other available weapon in hand in a swift motion, the crude bow, this time searching frantically the mass of men for Morgana and, more importantly, for Merlin.

* * *

As soon as he saw that the man on the stake wasn't Arthur Pendragon but the sorcerer, Merlin, Alined realized two things at once. First was that he had been proven correct in his belief that this entire 'spectacle' could easily turn on Morgana, and second that he and his men needed to get out of there as soon as physically possible.

It wasn't by chance Alined had survived longer than most of his fellow Kings. It was because he knew when to give up and run. What someone else might call cowardice, King Alined called _survival_.

It had all been merely a distraction, he was certain of it now. Morgana had already said something about an attack in the dungeons and Alined was no fool. The knights of Camelot would soon make an appearance, along with their King, and he didn't like his odds against them, especially when Pendragon clearly had no qualms in using magic in distress.

The _hypocrite_.

A quick nod to his first knight had the other signaling the rest of his men too. Thankfully, he'd been prepared for this. All his important belongings were packed and their horses were waiting for them in the stables, ready for their flight. It was amazing what a few pieces of gold in the hands of a couple of scared stable hands could achieve. Morgana hadn't suspected a thing.

Alined tried to reassure himself with the thought of the official documents neatly packed amongst his other possessions. At least he had gotten what he'd come for.

When the sorcerer cast his first spell, knocking the witch off her feet with ease that alarmed everyone around him, Alined gave the final signal.

Surrounded by his knights and Trickler, he ran.

* * *

"Gwaine!" Arthur shouted alarmed as he watched the huge stone monster taking a sudden turn towards where the knight was standing. Gwaine held his mace tightly and actually managed to lay a hit on the Golem's body, avoiding its deathly punch with a -rather graceful- jump and roll to the left. Arthur wanted to roll his eyes in exasperation seeing the playful grin that was plastered on his knight's face. Still, it made the King fiercely proud seeing his knights' bravery in action, the way none of them drew back in fear or pain , staying loyal to their sovereign.

The monster took a step back and Arthur, along with four other knights, attacked its rear side. Hammers and maces descended in a blur of hits, taking small pieces of rock with them. When the Golem turned and stretched out its arm towards them in a slow arch, Arthur saw a clear opening and swiftly brought down his sword with all his might. A loud screech sounded as the enchanted blade cut through the stone and Arthur struggled not to lose his grip of the hilt. As the monster retreated, he was pleased to see there was a large portion of its left arm missing where he'd landed his hit.

It had been a great relief to learn that his sword could inflict damage to Morgana's stone golem after all. He'd taken a bit of a risk at first, attacking with the magical blade instead of a blunt weapon, but it had worked out after all.

A fireball hit the monster on the back and, again, it turned, this time towards the other side, where Alator along with some of the rest of their group were waiting for it. Arthur launched forward again, swinging his sword to cut the back of the Golem's legs.

The Golem stumbled, its huge arms flailing in an effort to keep its balance. Arthur heard someone yelling "Watch out!" followed by a loud crash. He realized belatedly that Elyan had been hit and was now lying on the floor, apparently unconscious. Others had already gotten to him in an effort to make sure he was alright.

"Someone get Gaius!" Arthur hissed before he returned his attention to the magical creature. It was clear now that they had wounded it to a critical point, but Arthur knew they had to be extra careful. From his experience, the most dangerous kind of beast was a wounded one.

They kept their previous tactic, attacking the monster from two sides, with weapons and magic combined, and Arthur allowed himself to feel hopeful they would bring it down.

It was after Declan had landed a very strong magical blow on the Golem's side that he saw it. A strange faint silver light was coming from within one of the deeper holes that their hits had created.

When the Stone Golem lifted what remained of its arm, Arthur jumped forward aiming to hit the beast at the strange source of light. The moment the tip of his sword connected with its target, Arthur felt it. A wave of power emanated from the monster, thankfully not strong enough to knock them off their feet. He retreated instinctively, shouting at the others to take cover, as if sensing what was about to happen. Then the Golem ceased moving, something that confused everyone around Arthur, though only for a moment.

Then the damn thing burst.

Stone and dust shot towards all directions and Arthur duck his head even lower, trying to protect himself from any projectiles. He was the one closer to the monster after all.

Surprisingly, it all happened rather quickly. Arthur could still hear the shouts of his men around him. It made him shiver.

When he opened his eyes the dust was just starting to settle. Arthur's first thought was to check if any of his men had been hit. He glanced around him, noticing all his knights and Declan, who was near him before the explosion, were also getting up, thankfully without any major injuries.

"No! Don't move him!" Gaius shouted from behind.

The commanding tone in Gaius' voice made Arthur flinch. He turned at once, expecting to find one of his knights hurt, even dead. What he saw, though, was worse. Because it was George who had been injured, not a trained knight or a fighter. George the manservant, who had been eager to serve his King, even if that had meant he'd have to take arms and fight for the first time in his life.

Arthur approached quickly as Gaius hunched over the limp form of George, calling out his name again and again. The man tried to open his eyes, and Arthur would have been glad about that, if he hadn't noticed at that moment the odd angle at which the servant's body was folded. Arthur's stomach clenched tightly. He had seen that kind of injury before.

_Gods… His back is broken._

Gaius kept repeating George's name, only now his voice had an edge of desperation. But the servant didn't respond, nor did he seem to be listening or seeing for that matter. After a couple more attempts, the old physician's shoulders dropped. The King watched as Gaius' wrinkled hands touched the side of the other man's neck gingerly, searching for a pulse. After a few moments, his head fell.

He didn't need to tell them that the servant was gone. Everyone in the room had seen their fair share of death to recognize it when it came.

Arthur closed his eyes, feeling tired and, for a moment, strangely defeated. He would never get used to having men dying for him, in his name, let alone men that weren't trained soldiers or knights.

For an instant, he regretted having let George come with them.

His mind offered him a bitter reminder.

_You never had any qualms taking Merlin with you wherever you went, no matter how dangerous… Why the change of heart all of a sudden? _

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. Guilt wouldn't do him any good, not in this situation. After all, George had wanted to fight, not only for his king but for his home as well. He knew the dangers they would be facing.

Arthur turned to address the others who were slowly gathering around him. Many knights were still coming out of the dungeons' corridors, some carrying weapons, others carrying their injured.

"We… we have little time," he said. "Everybody find a weapon. We regroup and head out immediately."

* * *

The sight of the chaos thriving in the courtyard had Merlin thinking for a moment that perhaps reinforcements, _Arthur_, had finally arrived. That he wasn't alone in this anymore. When he looked closer though, he realized where the true source of the upheaval was coming from.

It was when a soldier came running towards him, only to be felled before Merlin had time to deal with him, an arrow planted on his flank, that he figured it out.

Someone was _attacking_ them…

Merlin was puzzled. Was it one of Camelot's allies? He frowned, unable to think of any likely candidate. It was only logical for him to then wonder if they, whoever they were, were on his side at all. It could very well be that someone else was searching for him and they just didn't care if others got hurt in the process.

His eyes roamed the crowd in search for some explanation and, if possible, for Morgana as well.

Some soldiers were fleeing, others trying to avoid getting hit by flying arrows, while the rest of them were seemingly busy fighting each other. Looking closer, Merlin recognized the picture for what it was. There weren't any _new_ groups of men attacking Morgana's troops. They were fighting _each other_. Men dressed in the unmistakable uniform of Morgana's Bloodguard were clashing with the other soldiers, who were probably the mercenaries. It appeared as if the latter were trying to leave the courtyard and the former were ordered to apprehend them.

Subconsciously, he registered that he was forgetting something. He was distracted though before he could really think about it, when a couple of Morgana's Bloodguard soldiers tried to catch him off guard, approaching him from behind. Only after dealing with them and then turning his attention back to the crowd, did it hit him. He couldn't see King Alined or his knights anywhere.

_He must have already fled, the coward._

Then he almost panicked when he realized that both Gwen _and_ Mithian had been near Alined when he last saw them, bound and unable to defend themselves. Frantically, he searched for them, turning left and right until he finally spotted both of them. He exhaled in relief. They were together, backed up against one of the courtyard walls. Gwen was unbound now and with a sword in hand, launching at whomever dared come close to either her or Mithian. But the men surrounding them were too many even for the Queen of Camelot to handle on her own.

Merlin stepped forward with a determination so absolute that it made every single one of his enemies flee from his path, clearing the way for the enraged sorcerer to pass. With a flash of his eyes, the men that had cornered the two noble women fell on the ground, unconscious but not dead. Probably. Waving his hand towards a startled Gwen and a terrified Mithian, he muttered a soft _**"**__**áscildan**__**"**_ and felt rather than saw the newly formed barrier that was now shielding them. He hoped it would be enough for now and that the women would know better than to leave its protective boundaries.

The next moment all of his instincts screamed but it was already too late. Merlin found himself thrown onto a mass of bodies. His head was ringing loudly and it took a few seconds for him to fully come to his senses. The first thing he did was to check if his two running spells, the protective barrier and the shield, were still intact. To his great relief, they were. Then, he pushed himself upwards. The men he had fallen upon, mercenaries from the looks of them, quickly scattered away, terrified, when they realized who he was, but Merlin didn't pay much attention to them.

No. His eyes were glued upon the dark clad figure of the witch, Morgana, who was slowly treading towards him, one hand still outstretched from her previous attack, ready to strike again. Her eyes gleamed with hatred and power, but what alarmed Merlin the most was the fact that her lips were still moving, working on another spell, though which one, he couldn't tell.

His first urge was to defend himself. He felt his power rise inside him, a strong current of energy that flowed freely through his veins, mixed with his blood, making him conscious of every little detail, every change around him.

On the back of his mind he registered the strain of the two working spells pulling on his magic, but he chose to ignore it, focusing on meeting Morgana's attack with a spell of his own.

The witch's voice was getting stronger, now loud enough for anyone to hear her as she cast her spell. She was nearly done, and Merlin was about to raise another shield, this one in front of him, when Morgana cried out it pain, her hand moving to clutch her shoulder. Merlin's eyes hurriedly followed her movements to see what had happened.

There was an _arrow_ embedded in Morgana's shoulder. She hissed as she removed it with a swift move.

_The mystery attacker…_

Then Morgana screamed again, this time livid with anger and her magic exploded, sending waves of power towards all directions. Merlin raised a shield instinctively as soldiers went flying around him and the earth trembled when the wounded witch let out her rage, seeking revenge, having every intention to kill anyone who opposed her.

Something snapped inside him then.

_Enough_.

He concentrated on his power, feeling how his magic was now synchronized with _everything_, and just willed it to get out, to end all of this. Tendrils of magic flew out of his body, the pure energy spreading on the ground and in the air, until it had enveloped almost all of the space between him and Morgana. Cracks appeared on the stone covered ground, thin but deep and from their depths emanated a thrumming sense of _power_.

Magic.

Everything around him was magic and something almost primitive inside his core roared when he realized that _this_, it was all _his_. His to control, his to wield. Everything had become one with his own elemental power.

At that moment, Merlin felt less human and more a creature of magic.

Morgana stood there, in the middle of Merlin's outburst, looking stunned. In her face, Merlin thought he saw genuine fear for the first time since all of this had started. Her eyes were round and moved hysterically all around, like she expected an attack to come from every direction at once. And she wouldn't be wrong, too.

Merlin guided the magic towards her, his mind focused on one goal.

_Restrain her. Catch her. Do not let her escape. _

_She mustn't escape._

The flowing lines of magic started to grow and glow, visible to all eyes now, adding a faint blue light to the pallet of golden red that already lit up the courtyard. As Merlin's resolve to _finish this_ got stronger, the magical power started taking another form, settling into a new element.

The tendrils became streams of silver-blue fluid that gathered around Morgana's legs, around her arms, her head. Like liquid crystal, inevitable, seeking to take the witch's magic, replace the warmth of life within her, with the irreversible cold of death.

Merlin was too consumed by the magic to realize what his spell had transformed into. His thoughts were almost lost in the enormity of power that was flowing inside him, through him, around him. But the moment the first tendril touched Morgana's shocked still form, the warlock finally felt his control slip.

Too much. It had been too much, even for him.

Morgana lashed out with all her might, trying to escape from the crystal that was slowly engulfing her, and the spell exploded, sending sharp shards everywhere.

Merlin fell backwards. He came to, and he felt a stinging pain in his left leg, just above the knee joint. Looking down, he saw a shard of crystal protruding from his flesh. He tightened his jaw, refusing to scream as he willed the shard out of his flesh with a though, and then his mind was reeling as he finally understood what had nearly happened.

That, for a moment, he had almost been _overcome_ by power, he had all but lost himself in it.

He felt exhausted, drained. Again, he cursed his inexperience. This wouldn't have happened if he knew more about magic, about the elements. Once again, he proved himself lacking. And arrogant too, for he hadn't even considered the possibility of not being able to control all of this power. He had been starting to give too much credit to his title, to _Emrys_.

On the edge of his mind he could feel increasing tugs on the shield he had place in the castle's entrance. True enough, many soldiers were desperately trying to get pass the barrier, being trapped between it and the two sorcerers and too scared to dare come closer to either him or Morgana.

_Morgana_… He promptly turned searching for his opponent, needing to see what had happened to her. He saw her unmoving body lying on the ground. Merlin froze. Had the magic succeeded in consuming the life in her? He shivered as he remembered the wild, almost dark magic that he had unwittingly unleashed upon Morgana. He didn't know what he'd feel if she hadn't survived the attack.

But Morgana… she _deserved_ to die, didn't she? Her actions had long ago sealed her fate, that was certain.

She started moving, a cough, and then she was struggling to stand up. Merlin attempted to gather whatever strength he had left to face her. His leg was throbbing now, and his magic wavered as he fought to keep up the protective barriers. It was costing him, and he was really running out of time, since Morgana had already began chanting.

"_**Ic her aciege ænne windræs! Færblæd wawe! Windræs ungetermed: gehiere! Ic ðe bebiede mid ealle …"**_

The wind picked up and Merlin recognized the spell she was weaving almost immediately. He tried to concentrate, to call on his magic and break the spell before the full whirlwind was created.

The tugging in his shield became insistent, distracting. Morgana's spell was nearly finished, the whirlwind almost formed and heading towards him, but his power was divided and he needed all his concentration to succeed in repelling the spell.

Then a warm, familiar feeling enveloped him and Merlin didn't need to think twice before dropping all his spells, both the barrier and the shield and focused with all his might towards the witch's growing enchantment.

The whirlwind died under the sway of his will before it had time to become a serious threat. He smiled, barely able to hear Morgana's frustrated cries over the sound of swords clanging.

The others had finally arrived. He wasn't alone anymore.

* * *

Mithian was standing by Gwen's side behind the protective shield Merlin had conjured, watching the clash of the two sorcerers in terrified awe, feeling useless as she was unable to aid Merlin in any way.

At first, Mithian had been mesmerized. Merlin's power was something otherworldly. _Extraordinary_. Never before had she encounter anything like it. As the princess of her people, she had often heard of many seemingly unbelievable feats performed by sorcerers, but nothing like this. Not even in her wildest dreams could Mithian have imagined a sorcerer wielding magic so immense.

And then she had felt humbled. Humbled before a man who could have easily ruled over the five Kingdoms but chose to remain a servant. All because he thought it had been for the best. Because Merlin had strove to do good, instead of letting himself thrive in power like so many others before him.

The shield around them remained even after both Merlin and Morgana were knocked to the ground, when their spells erupted. Mithian was relieved to see Merlin hadn't been gravely injured, as he soon got up, ready to continue fighting. The princess felt oddly secure seeing the sorcerer's persistence, like she knew with certainty that Merlin would never let anything happen to them now that they were under his protection.

She had faith in Merlin. In his integrity.

Beside her, Guinevere tensed, bringing her sword back to a defensive position and before Mithian had time to wonder why, the shield around them shimmered and then vanished, leaving the two women unprotected.

_No_. It couldn't be! Merlin _wouldn't_ let them defenseless.

Panic threatened to overcome her. She moved behind the armed Queen of Camelot before someone could come at her. Why had Merlin dropped their protection? Had he been injured? Worse, could it be that he'd been killed? Her eyes scanned the area for an answer, scared of what she would discover.

Then she realized what had been the cause of the sorcerer's actions. The knights of Camelot came swarming in the courtyard, blades bare and ready to strike at their foes. And on the front, leading them, was King Arthur.

In the fight that followed, Mithian lost sight of Gwen, as the men of Camelot clashed with whatever was left of Morgana's troops. The Queen had seen her husband fighting his way towards the center of the battlefield –towards Merlin-, and the princess knew nothing could have stopped Guinevere Pendragon from rushing to be by his side.

She caught glimpse of one of her own Knights, dressed in the colors of Nemeth, and hope bloomed inside her heart. They were obviously searching for her. She raised her hand, trying to make a signal, something to make them notice her, when a rough hand grabbed her forcibly from behind.

She was dragged towards the nearest palace entrance, kicking and screaming all the way up the stairs.

* * *

Lucan passed through the deserted corridors, trying to get to Merlin as fast as possible. After hitting Morgana, unfortunately not fatally, he had been forced to abandon the bow he had been using when one of the witch's random magic bursts rendered the weapon useless by cutting the string.

Sword in hand, he searched until he finally found a staircase leading to one of the smaller exits to the courtyard. The smell of ash, dirt and blood hung in the air as he entered the scene. It seemed that Arthur and his men had arrived there before him.

Declan's voice came from his right, chanting a spell. The Druid was fighting two of Morgana's Bloodguard at once, though Lucan could clearly see that his friend had everything under control.

Then, a sudden burst of fire in the distance turned his attention towards the center of the battle. He saw Merlin there, looking battered and bruised but determined as well, still fighting off Morgana.

He ran.

* * *

"Give up, Morgana. It's over…" Merlin panted as he blocked another fireball with an outstretched hand in front of his chest. He retaliated immediately, sending back one of his own, and the witch barely had time to deflect, her energy too low to raise a shield. The flames erupted somewhere to their left, lighting Morgana's features fleetingly.

She was exhausted, wounded and desperate. He could see it written on her face, on the way she leaned on her injured side, on her spells that were getting weaker by the minute. Not that Merlin was fairing a lot better. Though his magic was stronger than Morgana's, he too was getting tired. The pain in his leg had thankfully receded into a dull ache which he could ignore for the moment. Still, it had left him almost limping, and Morgana had purposely aimed to his left side in an effort to force him into a mistake.

"No!" she hissed, her eyes glowing gold, attacking him directly with magic. Though the spell was too weak to pass through Merlin's defenses.

"Face it, Morgana! You're _barely_ standing. You can't escape, not this time…" he tried again, though he knew reasoning with the half-mad witch was something pointless. All around, Knights of Camelot were fighting her men, winning ground slowly but steadily.

Morgana's gaze fixed somewhere on Merlin's right side, and a thin smile formed in her features. A foreboding feeling rose inside the warlock.

"How foolish you are, Emrys…" she taunted, smirking with confidence. And then Merlin heard Leon shouting Arthur's name and this time he focused all his attention to the right.

Arthur was there, with Gwen nearby, both busy fighting off Morgana's soldiers. The King's movements were sure and precise, as he was finishing off another enemy but, unseen by him, another man had crept behind him, standing now with an axe raised above his head, ready to land a killing blow. Arthur hadn't heard the warning, but Gwen's shocked face betrayed that she had. Another second and Arthur would be gone.

Merlin acted in an instant. He flung a hand at the man's direction, throwing him to the ground, dead.

* * *

Lucan was fighting his way through the mass of soldiers, his eyes focused on Merlin in the distance.

"Sire! _Arthur!_" a knight yelled in warning. But Lucan was more worried about the warlock's fate than the King's .

When he saw Merlin's attention had switched from Morgana to Arthur, Lucan felt a pang of something very dark rising inside him.

Something moved in the periphery of his vision. Morgana.

Lucan figured out what was about to happen while Merlin was distracted, once again saving Arthur Pendragon's life. The witch's hand was rising slowly and with it the Prince's thoughts cleared.

Lucan realized that what he truly wanted was for Merlin to just _live_. To see another day, to have the chance to become who he is destined to. And all of Lucan's work, everything he had fought for so hard for the past years, what he had achieved… He wouldn't let it all be destroyed, not for the sake of Camelot, its King or Morgana. Not when he could do something about it.

He was running towards Merlin before he had even finished that last thought.

* * *

"Merlin!" the warlock heard a distressed cry.

He turned just in time to see Lucan jumping right in front of him, his hands gripping his arms with force that left them both wavering. For a moment, Merlin didn't understand what had happened. He looked at Lucan's wide, almost terrified eyes, and felt the prince's grip gradually loosen on his arms. Then, Lucan fell, kneeling to the ground and Merlin followed him, mirroring the other man's movements, steadying him in his arms.

He saw them then. Three dark tips protruding from his friend's chest, blood oozing around them. Merlin's hand moved as if by reflex to Lucan's back where he felt the shards of crystal, the ones _his_ magic had created, now wedged inside his friend's body, some deep enough to be sticking out from the other side.

"Lucan… no…" Merlin whispered, shocked. He tried to summon his magic, willed it to close the wounds, to mend and heal, knowing deep in his heart it was near impossible.

The Prince didn't answer. Nor did he move. He couldn't. His eyes had closed at some point, and his face now looked almost serene. _Smiling_.

He left his final breath in Merlin's arms, looking content in death.

A moment of absolute stillness followed.

Everything around Merlin was silent. Or was it just in his mind? Had the world stopped flowing in time or had Merlin just stopped flowing with it?

He found himself frozen, unable to process what he was feeling, to deal with the enormity of what had just happened. This had to be a nightmare. It just couldn't be real. But the weight of Lucan's prone body on him, the wetness of blood on Merlin's fingertips, the shards coming out of the other man's back… they couldn't be denied.

It was reality and it threatened to overwhelm him.

Another one. One more name to add to the list. The list of his loved ones, his friends, of the people that had cared for him, truly cared, that had known him for who he was.

Will. Freya. Balinor. Lancelot. And now Lucan as well…

Was it him? Was he cursed?

He thought he heard people calling his name but he didn't respond. He was too lost in his thoughts, fighting to find something to hold on to. Not to crumble under all this pressure.

_Morgana did this._ _She tried to catch me off guard. And Lucan… he got in the way. He saved me._

_He gave his life for me._

The warlock's head shot up, eyes aflame, searching for his enemy amongst the chaos. His whole frame was shaking, from rage or grief, he wouldn't know. He only knew one thing. She wouldn't escape again. He wouldn't let her.

It was Guinevere he saw first. The Queen was struggling in the hands of Morgana as the wounded witch was dragging her towards the insides of the castle, using her as a shield. A heart beat passed and they disappeared into the shadows.

Merlin rose to his feet, grabbing Lucan's fallen sword in the process and ran after them.

Morgana would pay for this.

* * *

A/N: Another cliffhanger for you…

So, Lucan is gone. Many of you had predicted his downfall. If and how his death will effect Merlin's future actions... that's something you'll have to wait a bit more to find out.

My beta , Arwyn-T, said that this chapter reminded her vaguely of the new Superman movie (Superman Returns?), at certain points. I've never seen it, being a fan of only the original so I wouldn't know, but I felt obligated to mention it.

So, just to clarify, I didn't copy anything from that movie.

Please feel free to tell me your thoughts on this chapter… Don't hate me, please. I promise all is not what it seems.

Thank you for reading :)


	19. Chapter 18: Endgame

A/N: Hi there lovely people! Sorry for the long wait… Here's the next chapter! It's not very long but I hope it's satisfying nonetheless! Enjoy :)

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**Chapter 18: Endgame **

He was too caught up in the fight, in the way the bodies of his enemies convulsed as he brought them down with a swipe of his blade before he moved on the next one, to sense that he was in danger. Overconfidence was one of Arthur's major faults, he should have figured that much by now. After all, hadn't he accepted that, for _years_, he had been fighting with the unseen assistance of magic? More specifically of Merlin?

But old habits die hard he supposed.

When Arthur finally registered the distressed calling of his name and turned around, it was to see a man with an axe being hurled away from him. This time his mind made the logical leap with -relative- ease.

Magic.

He wondered if it had been Alator or Declan that protected him this time around. He didn't dare to hope it'd been Merlin. He knew lowering his expectations was the right thing to do because, honestly, Arthur didn't know if he could bear the disappointment. Deep inside he knew it was childish and ingrate of him, but he couldn't help himself.

But everything changed the following moment, when he heard Lucan shouting Merlin's name, distraught.

Arthur's blood ran cold realizing that it must had been Merlin that had saved his life. Merlin, who moments ago had been battling with _Morgana_.

When he turned towards the center of the courtyard he saw Merlin facing him, his hand still outstretched from when he flung back the man that had tried to kill the King, and had almost turned his back to Morgana. Arthur watched horrified as the witch raised her hands and attacked, shooting a rain of sharp dark crystals towards the unaware sorcerer.

Next thing he knew he had started running, desperately screaming Merlin's name while understanding all too well that it was practically impossible for him to reach the other man quick enough to prevent him from getting hit, but determined to try so anyway.

Then Lucan appeared as if from thin air, just in time to throw himself in front of the still oblivious to Morgana's attack warlock and Arthur was left mid pace, watching in shock as the crystals sank in the Ostian Prince's back.

Lucan fell and Merlin fell with him. That was enough for Arthur to snap out of his stunned state. He ran, the fear of one of the crystals succeeding in finding its target in Merlin's body too overwhelming for him to think of anything else.

When he got closer he felt relief washing through him at the sight of a more or less intact Merlin. The same couldn't be said for Lucan though. Arthur heard the agony and denial in Merlin's tone as he called for the prince, despite the fact that the warlock's voice was no more than a shocked whisper. He saw the way Merlin's blood-soaked fingers trembled when they touched the wounds in Lucan's back again and again, in what Arthur could only describe as a futile attempt to heal.

"Merlin…" he began, his hand pausing midway to the warlock's back, not knowing if Merlin would welcome a comforting gesture or not.

He stood there for a few moments, unsure of what he should do next. He barely registered that no one had yet attacked neither him nor Merlin. When he shifted his gaze from the morose sight in front of him, he noted that some of his knights had gathered around him, keeping the fight away from their King.

And then Merlin was up on his feet again, holding Lucan's sword in a tight grip and running towards the castle. Alarmed, Arthur hurried behind him, his eyes seeking to find what caused this sudden change in Merlin's behavior.

It was a glimpse of movement that he caught as he had reached the edge of one of the staircases that lead inside the palace. Then he saw them, just for a moment, as they passed beside an open window and the light from the fire in the courtyard highlighted the image of Guinevere struggling in the hands of Morgana. The witch's eyes were glowing gold and Guinevere was screaming as both the women disappeared behind a corner. Merlin was in front of him, already climbing the steps, leaping two at a time in order to get to them as fast as he could.

* * *

"Shut up and _stay still_, damn you!" the mercenary hissed as Mithian writhed in his hands, fighting with whatever strength she had left to escape the large man's grip.

Brog finished tying her hands in front of her and shoved her forcibly, making her fall ungracefully on the stone floor of the half lit chamber.

After he all but kidnapped Mithian from the courtyard, the mercenary captain had dragged her inside one of the guest chambers of the castle, locking its door as soon as they were in. Mithian's heart was racing with fear, imagining one dreadful scenario after another, but after making sure she was bound, he set her aside completely. Instead, he started roaming through the room's cupboards.

The princess' curiosity was piqued when she realized that Brog was gathering satchels and leather bags that were hidden in the chamber, probably by him. By the clinging sound they made when hitting the hard floor, Mithian assumed the bags were probably filled with coins or gold.

_He's looting…_

Finally noticing Mithian's incredulous stare, Brog smirked, placing another bag on the small pile on the floor.

"Always have a backup plan…" he said simply.

The gleam in his eyes as they roamed over her trembling figure left no room for doubt. He was fleeing and he wasn't taking just gold with him, but _entertainment_ as well.

Too soon, he had gathered all the bags in a crudely made sack, which he then proceeded to slung over his shoulder before he turned his attention back to Mithian.

He unlocked the door and then dragged the princess outside, keeping her in front of him so that he could watch her every move.

When they got outside, they found the corridors were still deserted. The fight kept raging in the courtyard, and whatever staff had remained to serve in the castle after Morgana's takeover had probably gone into hiding as soon as the battle had started.

Mithian struggled again, though this time rather meekly, as she could already feel exhaustion creeping in. But she couldn't stop trying to escape, no matter how futile or meager her attempts were. Trying to calm herself and assess the situation, she quickly came to wonder where the mercenary was taking her. It was possible that he had an escape route already formed in his mind, seeing he had apparently been expecting such a turn of events. She was thinking fast, trying to figure out if there was anything she could do to stop or at least delay the man from escaping with her, when she suddenly heard footsteps coming from the far end of the corridor. Brog must had heard them, too for the next moment Mithian found herself pushed into a small alcove that offered almost no cover from the main corridor. The mercenary's hand was pressed unceremoniously over her mouth in order to keep her quiet.

She glared at him as the sound of footsteps became louder and louder until the person responsible came into her view.

Mithian's eyes went round as she saw Morgana dragging a dazed-looking Guinevere through the corridor. The witch was hunched, one hand forcing Gwen to walk in front of her while the other was clenching her injured shoulder. She was limping, and if it wasn't for the cold almost detached determination in her eyes, Mithian would think she was half dead. Neither of the women showed any signs of noticing either the princess of Nemeth or her captor as they passed by them.

Brog let a few moments pass to make sure the way was once again clear and then, taking his hand from her mouth, he grabbed her hair, pulling her back out in the hallway.

Mithian screamed in pain and started thrashing again, though Brog didn't relent. They had almost reached the end of the corridor when Mithian registered another sound echoing through the empty hallways. This time the mercenary wasn't quick enough to hide them when Merlin appeared from the corner running, a blood-stained sword in hand and a feral look in his eye. For a horrible moment Mithian thought he too would move pass her and follow behind Morgana and Gwen, leaving her alone to face her fate in the hands of that monster.

But then Merlin's eyes glowed a stunning gold and the pressure in her head disappeared as Brog was hurled back with a mighty force. She stood still for a second, not really daring to hope that the danger had passed. It was when Merlin reached her that Mithian allowed herself to believe her ordeal had come to an end. Her knees buckled and if it hadn't been for the warlock, she would have ended up sprawled on the floor.

The sorcerer grabbed her with one hand, easing her to sit down with care. She felt the rope binding her hands slip away.

She wanted to see her savior's face, to _thank_ him. But when she found the strength to lift her head up, Merlin was already gone.

* * *

Arthur ran as fast as his feet could carry him. He was panting from overexertion, and had the circumstances been different, he would have been outraged at the notion that _Merlin_ of all people could outrun him, but, as it was, Arthur could do nothing but press himself to the limit, hoping he would make it on time.

He saw the warlock turn around a corner up ahead and tried to rush, fearing he would lose track of the other man. He was almost certain that Merlin was using his magic somehow, if not to make him run faster, then perhaps to follow Morgana and Guinevere's trail as they moved through the castle.

Arthur entered the hallway and almost stumbled upon Mithian. The princess was kneeling on the floor. She was sobbing quietly, her hands folded around her frail torso. A few feet away lay the unmoving body of a man, one of Morgana's mercenaries by the look of him. From the unnatural position and the lack of external wounds, Arthur guessed the man had been killed by magic. If it had been Morgana or Merlin he didn't know for sure.

He had no more time to waste though. Mithian was relatively safe, at least for now.

Staring in front of him, Arthur cursed his luck. The corridor split, going towards two opposite directions.

"Mithian…" he asked. Mithian turned to him with wide eyes. "Did you see Guinevere? Morgana has her… Mithian, _please_! Merlin must have just passed from here! _Which way_?"

He watched anxiously as she stared at him confused at first and then slowly lifted her hand, pointing towards the left corridor.

"They… went down that way… I think," she whispered.

Arthur broke into a fast run once more.

The throne room. That's where Morgana must be heading. It didn't make any sense to him though. There wasn't any way she could escape from there. Not unless she used magic, powerful one as Gaius had explained to him, which Arthur was pretty sure she was too weakened to do so. The witch must truly be mad if she thought that her best chances of survival lay there.

Arriving at his destination, Arthur barely noticed that the huge double doors were ajar, before he burst inside.

The room was a stark contrast to the shadowy corridors outside. Dozens of lit torches were placed all around, shedding a dancing light onto the almost completely empty chamber. There was one piece of furniture in the room. A single throne. Soon, his eyes fell on the three figures in the distance and he took in the scene unfolding before him.

Guinevere was leaning on the wall beside the throne, one hand gripping her other arm tightly to her chest, indicating she had been injured. She looked like she was struggling to remain conscious.

Morgana on the other hand was on the floor in front of the throne with Merlin looming above her. From his point of view Arthur couldn't see her clearly. The only thing he could make out was that she was holding her arms in front of her face, defensively. Merlin had his back to Arthur, so that the King couldn't be sure of what the other man was doing thought the gleam of the blade in his hand was unmistakable even from afar.

Arthur had been expecting to walk into another battle. He had been prepared to see a fight to the limit between the two sorcerers, much like what had already taken place outside in the courtyard. But as he carefully approached them from the sides, he realized that he wasn't witnessing a battle. He watched, horrified, as Morgana's body started writhing, her limps twisting and curling in abnormal angles under Merlin's golden glare.

A strange silver mist was rising from the witch's body, slowly flowing towards Merlin's outstretched hand. It looked like it was gathering there, inside his palm, silver pale and growing. The warlock's face was a mask of fury and vengeance, his features all but alien to the young King as he continued with Morgana's torment.

Arthur could hardly believe what he was seeing. This person before him wasn't fighting to win a battle. The battle had already been won. But Merlin… He looked like he was reveling in his victory, cruelly _torturing_ a defeated foe. Whatever crimes Morgana had committed, however much she deserved to pay for them, Arthur knew no one deserved _that_. It went against everything Arthur, as both a king and a knight stood for.

When Morgana began screaming, her last shred of resistance vanishing, making room for her anguished cries of pain, Arthur decided he had waited long enough to interfere. Merlin apparently had no intention of stopping anytime soon and Arthur's conscious couldn't let this torture continue.

"NO, _Merlin_!" Arthur tried. It fell on deaf ears.

"MERLIN _STOP!_" he shouted, voice sounding shocked and strange even to him.

But Merlin didn't turn then either. He ignored Arthur completely and instead held his arm even higher, as if wanting to gather every last bit of the pale mist that was now pouring out of Morgana's eyes and mouth along with her tears and screams. Out of her very soul it seemed. Until finally, it stopped, whatever it was, and the witch went completely limp, unconscious or even dead. Only then did Merlin lower his hand, letting the sphere of silver mist slowly dissolve into the air and Arthur realized at that moment what the nature of this enchantment truly had been.

Merlin had _drained _Morgana's magic out of her body.

The warlock brought Lucan's sword in front of him. Holding it with both hands, the tip of his blade facing the floor and the fallen Morgana, he lifted the weapon over the witch's body.

"_What_…" Arthur exclaimed, too stunned to do anything else. He just stood there, watching as the man the Druids called Emrys -because that man _wasn't_ Merlin, he just couldn't be-, fulfilled his destiny as Morgana Pendragon's doom.

With a single sharp move, Merlin ended her life.

As a small pool of blood started forming around the fallen witch, the warlock took a step back. The sword fell from his hands, clanging loudly on the floor, the sound echoed through the throne room.

Then, Guinevere whimpered from the sidelines and Arthur broke into action, hurrying to catch her before she fell.

He gathered his wife carefully into his arms. Lifting his head, Arthur saw Merlin watching him. Again, the King couldn't recognize the man. Where one would expect regret, perhaps even guilt, Merlin's expression betrayed nothing of the sort.

For a long moment they just stared at each other. Arthur still felt shocked by Merlin's actions. He tried to find something to say, not knowing if it should be accusing or thankful.

But Merlin, once again, beat him to it. With a swift motion, the warlock turned around and walked away, silently and without any hurry.

Arthur shivered as he watched him go. This wasn't Merlin.

This was a cold bloodied executioner.

* * *

A/N: So… that's it for now. Morgana is dead! FINALLY! That woman just refuses to die in this show, it's so unrealistic...

I have a special surprise for you all: The next chapter is almost finished already! (I know, I couldn't believe it myself either!) So please leave a review and I might update soon, tomorrow even! ;)


	20. Chapter 19: The day after

A/N: Thank you all for being wonderful! As I promised, here's the next chapter…

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**Chapter 19: The day after**

It was a pale, cold morning that followed the fiery night of Camelot's liberation. For the inhabitants of the castle the only indication of all that had taken place last night was the lingering smell of smoke, as well as the low mumble that came from the courtyard, where workers had already began piling the dead enemy bodies and spare armour in their efforts to clean the battleground.

King Arthur had been reinstated upon the throne and, slowly, the city would return to its everyday rhythms. It would take time for Camelot to completely heal . How much would the casualties she had suffered -both during Morgana's reign and the battle-, weigh on both the city and her people, that was yet to be determined.

By order of the King, two of the guest chambers closest to Gaius' quarters had been transformed into a temporary infirmary to host the large number of injured. The old physician had no time to rest between caring for his patients' wounds and trying to sort through the mess that had become his old chambers in order to find the necessary healing drafts and potions to use. Though he hadn't been alone. Many of the castle's staff, maids and serving girls mostly, had offered to lend a hand in the infirmary, and some of the noblewomen as well.

Amongst the many, Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth had also ended up on one of Gaius' cots. In his youth, Sir Geoffrey had been a fine swordsman, always balancing prowess with strength and grace in his moves. But alas, he wasn't that young anymore. It was to be expected that his body wouldn't endure the combination of fighting in a battle after such a long time along with his rather prolonged stay in Camelot's dungeons. He counted his self as lucky. He easily could have died out there. If not died then at least lost a limb. But the final count of his injuries had him at one gash on his forearm, a bump on the head from being knocked on the ground at one point, and a sprained ankle. Not bad for an old man actually.

Normally, as a nobleman, Sir Geoffrey would have been treated in his own room, which happened to be in the opposite part of the castle near the library. But seeing as the physician wanted to keep an eye on him due to the head injury, he had been forced to remain in the crowded room.

Despite the ongoing commotion he had managed to fall asleep at some point. When Gaius woke him up, he found that the cots nearest to him were now occupied by two of Camelot's knights, Sir Duncan and Sir Oscar, both looking battered, with bandages covering half all of their upper torsos, and one serving boy whose name he didn't know, who appeared to have injured his arm. The physician proceeded to instruct the other men to not let the old nobleman fall asleep again, for fear of his head wound deteriorating, and then moved on to the next patient.

"A hard thing Gaius asks of you, Sir Geoffrey. God knows we could all use some sleep after all we've been through…"Sir Oscar said as soon as the man in question was out of earshot.

Sir Geoffrey could only nod in agreement. "I'm afraid though that Gaius knows what he's talking about," he added.

Sir Oscar shrugged. He gestured to his companion and smiled crookedly. "I was just telling Duncan here how I nearly got my head chopped off by one of those thugs out there…"

"You're one lucky bastard, I give you that," the other knight chuckled.

"Was it one of the mercenaries, the Bloodguard or that scum Alined's men?" Sir Geoffrey inquired curious. The younger man shook his head. "No it was a mercenary alright. Tough bugger that one, have to give it to him… The Bloodguard didn't use crude weapons like axes, they all carried swords. As for Alined, he and his men fled just when the fight broke, or so I heard," he concluded.

That certainly got the older noble's attention. "Did he? That _coward_…" he muttered under his breath and the others just laughed.

"Alined was never one for bravery. First sign of trouble and he's running," the other knight, Sir Duncan, commented, shaking his head.

The servant on the cot beside Sir Oscar chose that moment to join the conversation. "Sim Trammer, who works in the stables, told me they had ordered for their horses to be ready before the battle! Looks like he was planning it all along, the good for nothing scum…" he mumbled, and then his eyes went round, possibly from realizing that he had just cursed a King in front of three nobles.

"I-I meant… my l-lords…" he stuttered.

Sir Oscar let out a chuckle as Sir Duncan tried to reassure the lad that they too agreed with him. Sir Geoffrey pondered on the new piece of information, worried. Alined could have fled at any moment without much risk of Morgana following him. So why wait until that night… Unless he had been waiting for something else as well. He decided it was definitely worth mentioning to the King later.

"Too bad… I would have enjoyed sticking my sword in that traitor's belly…" Duncan said with passion. The servant nodded enthusiastically. "I dunno much about fighting myself, Sir, but I would've enjoyed having a go at that sorcerer of Alined's, _Trickler_..."

The young man trailed off not bothering to finish his sentence. The others too had gone quiet at the mention of sorcery. The servant was biting his lip worriedly, frowning and the knights were shooting each other worried looks. Sir Geoffrey couldn't exactly blame any of them. He understood that their reaction had little to do with King Alined's sorcerer. Their minds had easily made the necessary jump from sorcery to everything that they had witnessed the previous night in the courtyard.

_An unprecedented battle between two of the most powerful sorcerers to ever live. _

Among the four of them, only Sir Geoffrey knew enough to define them as Camelot's greatest enemy and Camelot's greatest defender.

Technically Geoffrey had known that the King's manservant was in fact a magic user for more than a few days now, but the implications of that information hadn't had time to really settle in his mind until a few hours ago. Between Camelot being overtaken by Morgana, him being thrown in the dungeons and the rest, he had almost forgotten about it.

He could only imagine how incredulous it must have seemed to everyone else that _Merlin_ -clumsy, loyal, scatter minded Merlin-, was not only a sorcerer but one of power equal to Morgana's, if not _more_ powerful. The shock these people must have felt when they had realized that the man battling Morgana and her forces on his own before their arrival was none other than the mumbling manservant of King Arthur. After the Ostian Prince left taking the servant with him, there had been a large number of rumors running around, but nothing had been confirmed.

He would remember till the end of his days the sight of the two sorcerers exchanging one spell after another, seeming unaware of anything that happened around them. It had been… awe-inspiring and at the same time genuinely frightening.

"I just… I can't believe it's true," the young servant muttered after a while, his eyes staring into the void. Sir Duncan and Oscar looked uncomfortable with where the conversation was clearly heading. "Merl… _He_ was the first person I met when I started working in the palace. He helped me get settled. He's been around here for _ages_… He was one of us! And all this time…"

Sir Geoffrey sighed hearing the confusion and helplessness in the lad's voice. It was obvious that the young man couldn't combine what he knew about Merlin with what he'd seen or heard about him the night before.

Being one of the few people who remembered the days before the Great Purge, the noble knew all too well that not everything was black and white. Yes, there had been a time when magic was getting out of control, in many cases causing havoc and destruction. It had been the untimely death of Ygraine Pendragon at the hands of a priestess of the Old Religion that became the turning point of that era, leading to the persecution of all sorcery throughout the kingdom.

But Sir Geoffrey would never forget the faces of the people –the_ children_- that had been arrested for sorcery, nor their screams as they were lead to their death. Back then, he kept thinking that he was just doing his duty, serving his King. That the Purge had been an unpleasant but necessary course to take. Deep down he had always known that he was only trying to make up excuses for his actions, or to put it better, his inactions. Gaius' pardon of his _crimes of sorcery_ had left him with a growing feeling of unease, that, through the years had evolved into a secret, guilty certainty. Not all sorcerers were necessarily evil. Gaius wasn't. The children Uther had ordered to death couldn't have been either.

But these young people, both the knights and the servant, along with most of the residents of the castle and the people of this Kingdom, they had been told to fear magic _all their lives_. Thirty years after the Great Purge even the ones as old as himself had forgotten that once it was regarded as something neutral. Not fundamentally good or bad. Just like any other type of power.

"I'd heard the rumors before, but I didn't believe them…" Sir Duncan said, breaking the silence. "How could I? It was _Merlin_, for goodness sake! I can still recall that one time in swords training, when Arthur made him carry all of our equipment on his own and he ended up tripping over his own feet and landing upon a pile of horse dung…"

Both the knights chuckled at that, obviously remembering that particular incident. But the warmth soon disappeared from their eyes, and their smiles faltered, then fell.

For a few minutes no one said a word. The thought of Merlin, the servant to the King, Gaius' ward and apparently _almighty_ sorcerer hang in the air like a ghost, taunting them.

The rest of the room's occupants were either asleep –Gaius always said he preferred to drug his patients, it kept them from being too distracting- or too far away to take part in the conversation. The only sound in the infirmary came from the women that constantly moved around the makeshift beds, checking on the patients, carrying bandages and clean water. The court physician was too busy trying to save a Knight's leg to be aware of anything else at that particular moment.

"Last night… What we _saw_. If he always had all this much _power,_ then why..."

_Why remain here? Why just a servant? Had it all been part of a master plan? All these years in Camelot, living right under the King's nose…_

The older man could practically hear their thoughts, they were so obviously written on their faces. But, contrary to those men, Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth had a somewhat better insight to the manservant's motivations, having been present during Prince Lucan's speech. He knew though that he couldn't possibly talk about what he'd heard that day. Some of that information could destroy so much. Mainly, the people's _blind_ faith in their King.

"Is it true what they say? That Morgana's dead? That _he_ killed her?" the servant asked, almost whispering. The other nodded.

"It is. I heard it from the King himself…" Sir Oscar confessed.

Then the young servant asked the question that, by now, had been on everyone's mind.

"What happens to him now? Do you think he'll be arrested now that King Arthur has his throne back?"

The knights seemed reluctant to respond. It fell on Sir Geoffrey to answer the question.

"The King is forced by the laws of the Kingdom to proceed with the arrest and execution of any found guilty of sorcery. That most certainly includes Merlin…" he explained.

But he doubted that that would be the case this time. King Arthur hadn't indicated any intention of doing so, not yet anyway. In fact, Merlin hadn't been the only sorcerer to fight on their side last night. Geoffrey had seen at least two more men using magic to aid Camelot. Many of the knights had seen them too. No. His instinct told him that Arthur Pendragon had made a conscious decision of accepting the help of magic in this occasion. The young King had proven himself honorable enough to not reward people who had offered much needed help with imprisonment and death.

_But he's his father's son after all._ _How many times had Uther broken a vow, especially when it came to sorcery? _

A loud yelp from near the chamber's door made them all turn their heads simultaneously towards that direction. It took a moment for Sir Geoffrey to make the connection between the tall, imposing man whose entrance had caused one of the serving girls to panic, drop down her bucket of water and take a few steps back, and the subject of their current conversation. The sorcerer ignored the panicked looks the women were shooting each other, and walked inside.

Sir Geoffrey observed him curiously. Merlin still appeared to be in the same clothes he'd been wearing last night. Though blood-stained and battered, they still gave him an air of nobility. Or perhaps it was the way he stood now. His back was straight, his head held high and his expression was serious and detached. He truly was a stark difference from the man they had all been used to.

Merlin walked his way towards Gaius slowly, limping slightly. Even that wasn't enough to make him look less intimidating. It was his expression that unnerved Sir Geoffrey the most. He really looked like an entirely different person.

Gaius had apparently finished bandaging the knight's leg. He spotted Merlin and moved to meet the man half way. The entire infirmary had grown completely silent and all eyes were focused on the sorcerer as if he was an intruder.

"Can I help you, my boy?" Gaius asked, sounding tired. The look on his face affected Sir Geoffrey deeply. It was a mix of worry, fondness and _sadness._ He knew how much his friend loved his young ward, and the old noble only now realized the burden Gaius must have carried all these years.

"I was searching for some of your healing balm, Gaius. For my leg. I couldn't find any left in your chambers…" Even Merlin's _voice_ sounded different. Deeper, more hoarse.

The physician glanced down with the mention of Merlin's injury, taking in the makeshift bandage over the sorcerer's left knee. He frowned, looking thoughtful. "I think I have it here somewhere. Let me get you some," he said finally, returning back to the table he had turned into a working bench, with a large array of vials, potions and tinctures lying upon it.

Merlin didn't follow Gaius. Instead he walked slowly through the cots, his eyes traveling the room, taking note of every patient and their injuries. Those that were awake lowered their eyes not daring to meet his gaze. Beside Sir Geoffrey, Sir Duncan cleared his throat nervously. He was ignored by the sorcerer, who had now approached the knight Gaius had just finished treating.

The old physician approached his ward holding a small vial. Geoffrey thought he spotted a few clean bandages in his hand as well.

"I thought Alator had offered to care to the wounded…" Merlin inquired, his eyes not leaving the sleeping form of the injured man before him.

Gaius deflated a little. "He did. But the men felt… uneasy by his presence. He _did_ help me save Sir Berin's life. But we decided it would be best if he refrained from being seen too much…" the old man explained. Merlin's expression hardened hearing that.

"I see," Merlin responded, and the bitterness in his voice was evident. He took the item he had come for from Gaius' hands and his lips curled up a little when he noticed the extra bandages. "Thank you, Gaius."

As Merlin retreated towards the exit, Sir Geoffrey couldn't help but feel ashamed, _guilty_. This man had fought so hard for Camelot through the years, last night included. If it weren't for him, they'd all been dead by now and Morgana would still roam the land.

This prejudiced reception wasn't what he deserved.

* * *

Declan quietly sat near the bed where Lucan's lifeless body lay. He had spent all morning preparing the prince of Ostia for the wake. He knew it was redundant since there wouldn't be any of Lucan's loyal subjects to pay their respects to their fallen prince, but he couldn't care less. Lucan deserved that much. If not for his title then for who he had been as a person.

So, Declan did the only thing left for him to do. He cleaned the blood away from his friend's wounds and mended the clothes as best he could, before he placed the prince's sword in his hands. The Druid had felt a strange kind of satisfaction when King Arthur had told him that it was Lucan's sword that had ended Morgana's life.

Thus, Declan had nothing left to do but sit there, alone, and ponder on how he hadn't been able to save his best friend from this fate.

He had _warned_ him.

The Druid sighed, closing his eyes. He felt so tired. The ache of Lucan's loss lingered numbly in his chest, and he guessed it would only get worse as the time went by. It was strange how the mind worked. Though he had passed the last hours taking care of Lucan's lifeless body, he still hadn't truly realized he was gone forever.

The door creaked, alerting him he wasn't alone anymore. Footsteps, the sound of a chair being dragged on the floor to be placed near him. Still Declan held his eyes closed.

There was only one person who would come in there willingly. But the Druid wasn't sure how he'd react seeing him.

He was the reason Lucan lay on that bed, cold and unmoving.

He and his _destiny_.

Of course, at the same time a voice inside his head reminded him that it had been _Lucan_ who had contacted Merlin and not the other way around. Lucan, who had been obsessed with Emrys and his destiny. And Declan had agreed with his friend's decision back then, if a bit reluctantly. Because he had known how important it was, not only for the Prince himself, but for the entire magical community.

He opened his eyes slowly to find Merlin sitting beside him, eyes fixed on the deceased man before them. All the anger and frustration he might have felt towards the warlock vanished the moment he laid his eyes on him.

Instead, it was as if he'd found a kindred spirit, a companion of sort, so that he wouldn't have to go through all this alone. He wasn't _Emrys_ that moment, when he stared at Lucan's still form with unshed tears and a stubborn, almost angry look on his face. He was the lost serving boy they'd come to rescue, once again, alone, trapped in a world he didn't know where or how to belong to.

Merlin looked _haunted_. The Druid wondered what it was that truly bothered the warlock. Was it guilt over having a person he cared for die protecting him? Did he feel he could have saved Lucan? Or perhaps it had something to do with killing the witch?

Declan chose to remain silent.

Moments became minutes, minutes turned into hours and still there they were both, sitting in silence. Declan knew _he_ was honoring the memory of a friend. But he couldn't help but feel Merlin was there looking for something _more_.

In the end, it was their stomachs that betrayed them. Declan had been too caught up in everything to even think about eating, and the same could probably be said about Merlin. So when their bellies begun to growl, demanding their attention, there wasn't anything they could do other than chuckle meekly, somewhat breaking the heavy atmosphere.

"When was the last time _you_ had something to eat, Merlin?" Declan asked, surprised at the easy tone of his own voice. It seemed that the time he'd passed with Merlin's companionship had proven surprisingly healing for the Druid.

Merlin lowered his eyes to the floor, shaking his head in a reproving manner. "You shouldn't care about such things, Declan," he said, his voice hoarse. "Not when…"

The Druid interrupted him before he could finish. "On the contrary. I'm sure _he_ would have wanted you to take care of yourself," he pointed out, knowing in his heart it was but the truth. "It would seem you have a knack for skipping meals," he added, feeling somewhat teasing.

That got a faint smile out of the warlock. "Yeah… I guess I have," he sighed.

The Druid studied him as Merlin got up and walked to the window. He stayed there for a while, staring at what Declan assumed must have been a clear view of the courtyard.

"They'll be coming for him soon," Merlin said finally, voice just barely audible. He turned back to face the Druid. "They're almost finished preparing for the funeral pyres…"

Declan nodded, understanding. His heart ached knowing that soon all that would be left of the man he so loyally served and called friend for years would be ashes.

"What will you do next?" the warlock asked him, sounding strangely vulnerable. Declan suddenly felt that the question wasn't necessarily aimed for him. Again, he wondered if he should ask about what bothered the other man, but he decided against it. He had a feeling he knew what was really troubling Merlin.

He answered truthfully. "What my heart dictates."

Apparently that hadn't been what Merlin wanted to hear, judging from the way his shoulders dropped.

Declan clarified. "I'll escort Lucan's ashes back to his father. King Arthur has graciously offered me a horse as well as some provisions for my journey…"

"Of course," the warlock agreed. "Well then…" he added, moving towards the door. "I'll see you out there in a few hours…" he said and exited the room, giving Declan a chance to say his final goodbye to his prince.

* * *

When Arthur finally made it to his chambers it was already late in the afternoon. He had only a short amount of time to rest, maybe even manage to eat something too, before he'd have to leave again, this time to attend the memorial ceremony for his fallen men.

At the end of the battle, the final body count had been eighteen knights and seven civilians, the latter being mostly servants who had been brave enough to join the King's side as soon as the fight had commenced. George had been counted amongst them as well.

Camelot had suffered a rather small number of losses, especially when compared to those of their enemies. He knew he had Merlin to thank for both of those facts. More than fifty of Morgana's men had died, another score were injured and in custody, while a small number rest had managed to flee.

Arthur had developed an annoying headache the last few hours. He had spend most of them locked inside a room with whatever was left of the council, going over every act, official or not Morgana had made during her reign of terror. One of the most disturbing pieces of information they'd given him was that Alined had ultimately managed to achieve what he'd come for. He had procured documents bearing the official seal of the King of Camelot that gave him dominance over a large portion of land near the borders between their Kingdoms. Of course he'd fled as soon as he'd gotten the chance. That snake would be halfway to his castle by now. No point in pursuing him at the moment. But Arthur swore that this wouldn't be the end. He wouldn't give up his land, and the people living in it, so easily. He would go to war if he had to.

They had sent word out to their remaining allies, Annis and Mithian's father, to inform them of the latest developments and to ask for their help. The King was hoping that they'd receive a positive response, and soon. At least then Camelot's people wouldn't be in danger of famine and he'd have one less thing to worry about.

A kitchen lad had brought him a tray of food, just some freshly baked bread and cheese, and Arthur was about to delve into them when Guinevere entered the room.

He took in her appearance. She was wearing one of her regular dresses, no longer in the simple clothes of a servant. She looked frail though, the fabric hanging loose on her shoulders. The black marks under her eyes only served to point out how tired she looked and was.

"Arthur… I didn't realize the council had ended," she said, trying to sound cheerful, but failing completely.

Arthur frowned. Something seemed off with Guinevere. He guess it could be attributed to the ordeal she had gone through, but he had a feeling it was more than that.

"What is it, Guinevere? Something is bothering you… Is it your arm?" he asked, concerned. She had bruised her arm rather badly, but Gaius had given her a balm and a potion for the pain, so that couldn't be it. Still, perhaps the injury had been more severe than they originally had thought?

She shook her head, offering a rather fake smile which quickly faltered. "It's nothing…" she said in a hurry, coming over to sit at the table beside him. She picked a piece of cheese from the platter and started nibbling on it.

Arthur wasn't buying it though. "Guinevere… _Tell me_, please," he pressed, touching her slightly on her uninjured arm.

She sighed, sounding rather defeated. She sank back into her chair, holding her gaze fixed on her hands, avoiding to meet Arthur's eyes.

"It's… It's Merlin," she whispered.

Arthur's stilled, hearing that. The truth was that since last night, after seeing Merlin do what he did, Arthur had been feeling rather at a loss at what _his_ response should be. He hadn't known then how to react so he had done what he knew best. He had ignored it and tried to concentrate on the hundreds of other problems he had to solve. Still, he knew he couldn't hide from it much longer.

He had learned from Guinevere what had happened before his arrival. Morgana had used magic on the Queen to subdue her while still leaving her aware of her surroundings. She'd told him that had Merlin caught up with them just when they reached the Throne Room. That Morgana had tried to use her captive as a shield but Merlin had been faster. He'd separated the two women with a fling of his hand and then he attacked the witch. Arthur had seen how difficult it'd been for Guinevere to recount what she'd been thought and so he refrained from pressing her for more details.

When he looked back to how had he had felt in the throne room, Arthur realized now it hadn't been the fact that Merlin killed Morgana that had bothered him the most. The King knew that, if trialed, his sister would certainly be condemned to death, if not for sorcery then for her many crimes. It was the idea that Merlin had caused her _pain_ and then went on to killing her. Something that, back then, had seemed unnecessary and cruel.

But when he thought about it now, trying to applying rational thinking, he couldn't help but wonder if there'd been something more to the warlock's actions than torture. What had made the woman suffer had been the fact that he'd taken her powers away from her. Had that been the wrong thing to do? Morgana had managed to escape from their grasp so many times before… If Merlin hadn't done what he did, who's to say she wouldn't have found a way to escape once again?

Arthur knew that, had Merlin not killed her himself but left her to answer for her crimes in a trial, they'd all be thanking the warlock for rendering the witch's powers useless.

It certainly wasn't a simple matter. And then there was of course the bigger issue of magic still being outlawed. He couldn't change the law just yet, never mind that he now knew that it was wrong. It was something that demanded a lot of time and thought before applied.

At this point, most of Camelot had probably heard that the King's former manservant was a sorcerer. The story of what had occurred in the courtyard had traveled like fire. He hadn't been directly asked about it in the council, but Arthur had heard the whispers behind his back, he'd seen the doubtful looks his advisors exchanged.

Thankfully, it hadn't been the same with the incident in the throne room. The general public knew only that Morgana and Merlin had fought each other and that the warlock had emerged triumphant. The word of the witch's demise had been received with relieved smiles and talks of celebrations. But what the public _hadn't_ been so keen on hearing was that there _still_ was a sorcerer living in the castle.

_Imagine if they'd known about the other two sorcerers as well._

But Arthur had acted fast, making sure that the identity of both Alator and Declan would be kept from becoming public knowledge, as much as that was possible since many knights had already seen them, fought with them. Both the sorcerers had remained in closed quarters, so it hadn't been very difficult.

But _Merlin_… He hadn't seen him since the warlock had left the Throne Room. He could easily be wandering alone in the castle, for all Arthur knew. Could something had happened to him without the king ever hearing about it? Arthur didn't want to believe any of his subjects would act against the warlock behind the King's back. Especially after seeing -or hearing- how big a part Merlin had played in the reclaiming of Camelot. Nevertheless, he couldn't help but feel slightly panicked.

"What about Merlin?" Arthur asked, the worry evident in his voice.

Guinevere must have realized Arthur's panic as her eyes went suddenly wide and she rushed to reassure him.

"No! No, he's fine, don't worry. It's just that…" She let out a shaky breath and tried to compose herself before she continued. "I ran into him before I came here. With everything that has happened, we hadn't had the time to properly talk at all. So I tried to speak to him. I wanted to thank him for saving me, to tell him I'm sorry about Lucan's death, sorry about _everything_ really…" She paused, and Arthur thought he understood where she was heading with this.

"He just shot me a cold _thank you, your Majesty_ and left, Arthur. He…" she trailed off, biting her lower lip. "He hasn't _forgiven_ me yet," she finished, her stoic voice faltering at the end.

_Oh…_

He could feel his wife's distress and, truly, Arthur wished he was able to honestly tell her there was nothing for Merlin _to_ forgive. That she had probably misunderstood him. If they had had this conversation a month earlier he would have done so. Hell, a _month_ ago their roles would probably had been reversed.

Arthur had recently realized that, in the past years, he had often turned to Guinevere for guidance and help. Even consolation, when times had been hard.

Too often, almost. It was a fine line between taking someone's advice and ending up using them as crutches, placing the weight of decision on their shoulders. Arthur had slowly come to understand that he'd done it both to Guinevere and Merlin. A King should always take into consideration other people's opinions and ideas, that was something he had always believed in. But at the same time, a King was still a _leader_. He had to think and act for himself. After everything that had happened, Arthur knew that patronizing Guinevere wouldn't do any good to either her or her broken relationship with Merlin.

"Maybe…" he began, choosing his words carefully. "Maybe an apology isn't enough for him anymore. Maybe he needs more than that."

He sensed Guinevere tensing beside him, but that didn't stop him. He knew he wasn't speaking about her anymore. Not in particular. "Lucan was certainly right about one thing, I'm afraid. We _all_ owe Merlin. We owe him a great deal, Guinevere, and we have yet to even begin repaying that debt."

He felt small and exposed and he really didn't like it. "For what it's worth, I think you have the smallest portion of blame, Guinevere. At least _you_ never mistreated him." He was surprised at the bitterness in his voice uttering that last phrase.

Guinevere took his hand in hers. When he met her eyes, she no longer looked uncertain or guilty. She looked concerned, almost pitying.

"When I saw him out there last night fighting on our side," she began slowly, her eyes as if boring into his soul, "I assumed that the two of you had worked things through."

She squeezed his hand slightly.

"Arthur… I was _wrong_, wasn't I?"

* * *

Bright flames were dancing once again in Camelot's courtyard.

It was ironic how similar the image of the four large funeral pyres was to the one from the night before. The same place. The same people. And yet it couldn't have been more different.

Mithian was standing by the King and Queen of Camelot. She was dressed in her finest garment and escorted by her loyal knights, who had been more than relieved to find her unharmed and safe at the end of the battle. She in turn had been even more glad to discover none of her men had lost their lives.

She sighed, thinking of the good men of Camelot that hadn't been so lucky. They were all gathered there to honor them, the men that had shed blood and made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of their King and country.

In the first three funeral pyres burned the bodies of eighteen knights of Camelot. Gathered around them were their families and friends, their brother in arms, all silently grieving.

But Mithian couldn't avert her eyes from the two lone figures standing in front of the fourth one. The only pyre that hosted one single man. A royal.

The Prince of Ostia.

Merlin and Declan were the only ones standing near Prince Lucan's pyre. The people nearest to them were trying to keep a distance, often murmuring to each other and pointing towards the two sorcerers. It made the princess feel frustrated. Embarrassed for these people's sakes, if anything. Had sorcerers no right to grieve like any other?

It was clear to her that the Druid was silently weeping. His shoulders shook and though she couldn't see his face, he exuded an air of sorrow and pain.

Merlin on the other hand was standing straight, with his arms folded in front of him. And Mithian… she just couldn't take her eyes off of him. He was _so different_ from what she remembered before he'd left. The kind, reliable man that had always something witty to say, even if he'd been tired and overworked. He looked important now. He commanded attention with his mere presence, though Mithian doubted he was aware of that. She assumed it was the fact that he didn't have to hide any more.

She came to an abrupt decision. Without looking back, she left her place beside the Queen of Camelot and joined the two men in front of Lucan's pyre. She felt that it was the right thing to do. Lucan had given his life for all of them after all.

Merlin glanced at her, and his face betrayed both surprise and gratitude. He gave her a small nod of acknowledgement and she could barely contain her smile.

Images of him saving her from the mercenary kept flashing before her eyes. It was just parts of a whole picture. A steadying arm. A flash of gold in blue. A sense of relief.

She lost herself in thoughts and when she emerged it was to find the courtyard now half empty. The pyres were still burning. They would continue to do so until the morning hours.

Her eyes seeked Merlin, realizing he was no longer beside her. She found him heading back into the castle. Declan had apparently left already. As he disappeared inside the castle, Mithian's heart dropped.

Merlin was the perfect image of loneliness.

* * *

A/N: This chapter had originally been part of the previous one, but in the end they felt too different and I separated them. Now, I know many of you probably want to know what's happening inside Merlin's mind right now… All I can say is that you'll have to wait until the next chapter to find out!

I hope you liked it! Please review and tell me what you thought of it!


	21. Chapter 20: A misty dawn

A/N: Hi my lovely, patient readers! :P I know it's been some time since I last updated, but I again, real life has been rather hectic as of late…

Now, I have some news for you. This chapter is the penultimate chapter. There will be one more after that and then a small epilogue.

Enjoy! I've made this one extra long as an apology for my tardiness ;)

* * *

**Chapter 20: A misty dawn**

It was way past midnight and Gwaine still roamed around the castle in search for Merlin. He'd been searching for his friend for what must have been hours, but the warlock was nowhere to be found. First he had visited Gaius' chambers, knowing they were bound to be the one place Merlin would still feel relatively at ease, since they'd been his home for nearly a decade. He'd found the old physician inside, having a modest supper alone. Almost all the patients had been moved to their own chambers or homes, leaving only a couple of knights, the most severely injured ones, in Gaius' care. The men were already asleep, but thankfully Gwaine didn't had to ask the physician if he'd seen Merlin at all since the funeral. The look on Gaius' face and the tired shake of his head when he saw him were evidence enough. Next he'd debated about going around to see if the warlock was with Declan in the Druid's guest rooms. From the devastated state the Druid had been when he'd left the courtyard, Gwaine wouldn't be surprised if Merlin was with him even now. But when he asked the guards Arthur had posted outside Declan's chambers, they denied seeing Merlin.

Gwaine had wondered then if he'd best return to his own chambers and leave his friend on his own for the night. But soon he rejected the notion of abandoning Merlin. He'd seen the other man in front of Lucan's pyre. He'd read his expressions, seen the shadows lingering in his thoughts, even if they were invisible or concealed from others. Merlin _needed_ company. He needed a friend to talk to. And Gwaine would be damned if he ever let the warlock down again.

He had already checked the battlements, the library, even the courtyard where the four funeral pyres were still lingering. At one point he visited the kitchens. No one had been there that late into the night, but Gwaine managed to procure a flask of wine anyway.

He was walking down the corridor that lead to the King's chambers, trying to refrain as much as he could from drinking the entire flask alone before he'd found Merlin, when he noticed that one of the doors ahead of him was ajar and a faint light came from inside.

_Strange_, he thought. In all his time living in Camelot he hadn't ever seen those doors open. If they had been in any other part of the palace that wouldn't have been at all uncommon. Many rooms were locked if they were unused for too long. But this close to the Royal chambers…

He stilled. He remembered what he'd heard the servants whisper when he'd first arrived at the castle.

_Morgana's chambers… _

Seeing as he was one of the five people that had been present for the burial of the witch, he was pretty certain that it couldn't be Morgana occupying her old rooms once again. No, she was now lying in an unmarked grave hurriedly dug outside the city walls, where she was bound to be forgotten.

He pushed the door open some more. The light was soft, coming from a single candle placed upon the table. It lighted a part of the room, but still, most of it remained in shadows.

Gwaine's eyes squinted. There, on the floor near the bed.

Something _moved_.

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a thud. The figure moved again, letting out a low sigh.

Gwaine came around until he could see the person properly. It was Merlin alright. The warlock was sitting on the floor, resting his back on the side of the bed. He was rubbing his eyes with one hand, while the other clang onto a cup.

"I've been looking everywhere for you," Gwaine began, keeping his tone purposely light. He sat beside the younger man, shivering slightly from the sudden contact with the cold floor. The fireplace in the chambers must have been last used years ago.

Merlin seemed unbothered by the cold. He just lifted the cup he was holding to his lips and took a large gulp of what Gwaine suspected to be wine.

In the half light, Merlin's face was a pallet full of shadows and sharp angles. It made him look unfamiliar and distant, as if the warlock was using the night to disguise himself, to hide. And while Gwaine couldn't tell if the other man had been crying or not, he could still understand that he was miserable. And judging from the slight tremor of Merlin's hand, he must have had a lot more wine than his single cup suggested too.

_And there I was thinking I would have to trick Merlin into drinking his sorrows away somehow_…

Gwaine didn't say anything. What could he say that could make Merlin feel better? He knew from experience that when a man grieved, he needed to do it his own way. If Merlin wanted silence then Gwaine would respect that. The only reason he was there after all was for Merlin not to have to go through all that alone.

They sat in comfortable silence for several minutes, drinking, until Merlin let out a soft chuckle. The knight shot him an inquisitive look, quirking an eyebrow. The warlock shook his head, shutting his –glistening, Gwaine noticed now- eyes momentarily, looking more worn out than amused.

"It's nothing. Just… Even now I find it difficult to accept everything that's happened. Everything is different now. It feels… _unreal_ sometimes, that's all," he shrugged.

Gwaine nodded, though he knew Merlin wasn't paying him attention. Yes, none could argue that the events of the past few days were nothing but earth-shattering, even by Camelot's already too high standards.

And what Merlin had gone through… To go from constantly feeling frustrated and unappreciated but being forced to hide it, to feeling cheated and wronged by those he had first put his trust upon and, on top of that to then be forced to confront his most mortal of enemies in battle, _kill_ her even, while losing a new friend in the process…

Gwaine imagined that if it had been him, he probably would have lost it a long time ago.

Merlin's rough voice brought Gwaine back from his thoughts. "Back when I was Arthur's servant, I never dared to think about doing _this_…" the warlock muttered, waving his cup around, spilling half its contents on himself and the floor.

Wine, just as the knight had thought.

Gwaine tried to lighten the mood. "What? You mean sneak into women's rooms to get _drunk_?"

That earned him a drunken snort from Merlin. But too soon the smile disappeared from the warlock's face.

"No…" Merlin replied, fixing his gaze into the void. "Well, that too, once. A long time ago…" he added as an after though, reminding Gwaine of his old, teasing and playful friend. "I mean _this_… Me being in the castle, in _Camelot_, free to do anything I want, while everyone knows I have magic," he paused, face frowning in his effort to concentrate enough to not slur the words too much.

"At first, I used to dream of how my life would change when Arthur learned the truth about me. How he would thank me for all I had done for him and his kingdom. I imagined the perfect world we would build together. But, as time went by, I gradually gave up on that. The '_when Arthur finds out'_ became an _'if Arthur ever finds out'_ and then, after a while, it all just became a distant fantasy. I had resigned myself to forever live in obscurity, always play the fool, never to be seen for my true value."

In the dark night and the silence of a sleeping castle, Gwaine was able to hear all the pent up pain and sorrow coloring Merlin's voice, the hitch of his breath, the _difficulty_ to admit all that out loud, even if the only person around to hear it was a _friend_.

The warlock turned to the knight, expression remorseful.

"I kept saying that _one_ _day_ things would change. But I had long stopped believing my own words. And I think, to a point, I had made my peace with that."

To Gwaine, it felt like a confession. _I had given up_, it said.

"But here I am now," Merlin exclaimed. "_The oh-so-_ _formidable-sorcerer_, free to roam the castle," he finished, raising his cup to a mock-toast gesture before drinking.

Gwaine was sure by now that the only way that cup stayed full was magic.

"Arthur is a man of his word, Merlin. Things _will be_ different for magic users from now on," the knight said, feeling the need to reassure the other man.

Merlin stared at him, looking all too perceptive for a man who was not only drunk but by all standards should have already fallen into an exhaustion induced unconsciousness. Had Merlin rested _at all_ since returning to Camelot?

The warlock tilted his head, thoughtful. "Will they? Perhaps…" he muttered. "But don't forget, Gwaine. You were there. You saw how everyone looked at Declan. At _me_. Like we were…" he stopped, unable to speak the next word.

_Monsters_. Yes, Gwaine had seen it. He'd been half expecting it, but still, it had managed to infuriate him. The knight had been ready to abandon his place and break the honorary formation around the king to join the warlock when thankfully Princess Mithian stepped in to show her support to the two sorcerers.

"They are all fools then," the knight spat. "It's not right, Merlin. They owe their lives to you, least they could do is be _thankful_," he stated stubbornly. "But then again, it can't _all_ change in the span of a few hours. Give them some time and they'll come around, I guarantee it."

He held Merlin's gaze, trying to will the man to accept that. To make him feel better. Eventually the warlock broke the eye contact.

He watched as Merlin placed his cup on the floor. "Time…" the warlock exclaimed, a bit ironically. "Huh."

The warlock used the bed for support and slowly got to his feet. The cup of wine was knocked over, though nothing spilled from inside. The knight shifted, not knowing if he should follow.

"I think I'll go to sleep now, Gwaine. I'm… I'm _really_ tired," he said, gesturing to the bed behind them. The knight recognized the dismissal. His gut instinct told him Merlin was still troubled, still needed to talk about what was bothering him, despite the fact that he was seeking solitude. And there was also the matter of him choosing to sleep in the former rooms of the woman he had killed not one full day ago.

That wasn't very promising…

But the warlock had already crawled upon the covers, not even bothering to remove his boots, and had turned his back to the knight.

Gwaine walked to the door, turning one last time to look at his friend.

"Goodnight Merlin," he whispered, closing the door behind him, stepping into the dark cold corridor.

* * *

They never spoke. They just stared at him with huge eyes, terrified, pained, accusing. Each of them a different emotion, each of them a burn in Merlin's soul. Balinor, Freya, Will, Lancelot. The people he had lost.

But this time they weren't the only ones that came to him.

No. This time something new happened. The apparitions all lost their shape, fading away into mist and nothingness, leaving Merlin behind, alone with his guilt. And then they were replaced by two other figures. They stood facing him, each in opposite sides. One side exuding an otherworldly sense of desperation and anguish, worst than anything the warlock had ever experienced, while the other gave him a comforting, almost soothing nostalgic feeling. Like a distant fond memory of childhood and happiness.

They weren't competing with each other. The darkness and the light. No, they were co-existing, occupying the space around the warlock completely.

Then, the figures took a more solid form and he wasn't surprised to recognize them. Morgana's pale features were a stark contrast with the shadows that engulfed her, her beautiful face, so much like the old Morgana he remembered from Camelot, only added to the feeling of sadness that threatened to overwhelm him. And when he turned away from her, he came face to face with Lucan. The Prince was regarding Merlin with kindness, appearing exactly like Merlin remembered him from the first time he'd ever seen him, noble and gentle, an exception in the ranks of royalty.

Unlike anyone that had come to his dream, Lucan didn't seem accusing or in pain. His presence wasn't haunting or tormenting. Instead, the Prince of Ostia, a man who, disregarding a bright future ahead of him, had given his life in order to save the warlock, was looking proud of his accomplishment. As if he didn't regret doing what he did. As if he'd do it a hundred times over. And Merlin, who had endured seeing all his other loved ones and friends coming to him, suffering, countless of times, finally broke.

He woke up breathing hard, clothes drenched in cold sweat. His heart was pounding wildly against his ribcage and even his magic felt agitated, ready to lash out.

After he managed to calm himself enough so that he could take in his surroundings, remembering last night, Merlin certainly appreciated the irony. He was lying in Morgana's old bed, waking up from a restless sleep full of _nightmares_.

He sighed. How the roles had been reversed.

The room was dark and since the curtains were still drawn on the windows, he had no way of knowing the precise time. He lay back on the bed, closing his eyes. He could hear sounds coming from outside his door, footsteps in the distance, people talking. He gathered it must be morning, early or late he couldn't be sure. The servants were already on their way to begin their daily chores.

The sounds faded away, leaving him once again in his secluded silence.

He discovered that his head was throbbing. The perils of drinking one too many cups, he guessed. He pressed the heel of his hands to his temples, rubbing the pain away with slow movements.

Only a few days ago, that could have been him outside. It seemed so strange that after years of living the same pattern, he was finally moving forward. To where he wasn't sure.

The future. For so many years the promise of a future where magic would be free had been what kept him going. His whole life had been built around that idea and around the one person who could bring that to pass. Thus, almost without realizing it, Merlin had dedicated his all to Arthur, even when his belief that the King would bring the new era started to fade into a hope and wish.

But now… Now Arthur had promised. And he had done it in front of his knights too, not like the other time, when it had been just him and the druid boy's ghost. He had said that he'd changed his mind for good. He had fought with magic users by his side, he had accepted them as equals to his knights, as valuable assets.

And it simply was _more_ than just that. Merlin could feel it in the air around him, in the earth and the sky, in his bones, the persisting sensation very akin to magic and power.

Something _new_ was coming. Change.

He had no idea if that was what destiny was supposed to feel like. If he were to be frank with himself, it didn't really matter to him anymore. The whole _destiny_ business.

That strange gut feeling had been what lead him to ignore Arthur's reaction in the Throne Room and focus on the King's original promise.

There, that night, while witnessing the end of the battle –and maybe even the war- Arthur's face had betrayed a genuine surprise, if not fear. He supposed, to an extent, it was only logical.

Though Merlin tried hard not to recall what had happened that night, he just couldn't refrain from doing it. He blamed that damned _silence_. Silence and darkness, the absence of stimuli for his senses always filled his head with thoughts, mostly unwanted ones, ones that he'd preferred to forever keep hidden in the darkest premises of his mind.

One of the perks of working almost constantly as both a servant and a physician's assistant was that he had always been busy, keeping his mind occupied with a hundred different thoughts and away from painful subjects. Like truth, lies and _mistakes_.

The memories always began with Lucan dying in his arms, the sharp edges of crystals –Merlin's own magic- embedded in his back almost cutting Merlin's fingertips, the moment Lucan's eyes lost their focus, and ended with him lowering his hand releasing Morgana's power from his hold to return back to the earth.

Morgana… Even now, lying on the witch's old bed, surrounded by her belongings -many gifts from loved ones to the young ward of king Uther, all left untouched first by her father then Arthur- , Merlin couldn't regret his actions. Morgana's innocence had long been lost. She had fallen into the darkness with no hope of returning. He knew he was partly to blame for that. Merlin had accepted it, both as a burden and as a responsibility. The truth was that he had done what he had to in order to stop her. To stop the menace she had become from inflicting any more pain to the people around her. He had acted for the greater good.

Closing his eyes he could see it all so clearly. How she had writhed in agony, her lips trembling as she cried, begged for him to stop, screamed until she had voice no more. And it _terrified_ Merlin because he _remembered_ it all with perfect clarity. He had been aware of what his spell was causing her to go through, but he had not relented, persisting until it was done.

And then he had finished her off.

All he'd been thinking during those long minutes of draining Morgana's magic was the deaths she had been responsible for. Percival's cold body and Lucan's last breath. All he wanted was to end her existence.

And to make sure that she'd _stay_ dead too.

Because it would be typical of Morgana to suddenly come back from the dead. He didn't know if it had been logic or his pure magical instinct that had offered him the solution to his problem, but Merlin had found himself hit with the realization that the only way to _forever_ get rid of Morgana was to take away her powers completely and then kill her. If she had no magic, then she had no way of miraculously surviving a death blow.

He'd known deep down that it wouldn't work if he just blocked her magic, or even weakened it. He had to completely separate Morgana's powers from her body. Tear them off of her.

He now acknowledged that he might as well had removed her arms and legs or skinned her alive for that matter, that was the amount of agony he'd put her through.

He didn't regret it, but at the same time, he couldn't believe that he'd actually _done it._

A bark of laughter filled the silence and Merlin jerked instinctively towards it. He looked at the door noticing for the first time the light coming from beneath it. _Late morning_, he thought absentmindedly. The sound of footsteps returned and a shadow marred the line of light, indicating someone had just passed through the corridor in front of the chambers.

He knew he couldn't, he _shouldn't_ hide any more. Alator was bound to leave this morning and Merlin wanted to talk to him before he was gone. Additionally, the warlock had overheard some servants talking about Arthur ordering an urgent council meeting for a very serious matter, requesting the presence of his knights as well as his advisors. He'd felt oddly vexed he hadn't been told about it, but then again, he didn't really have a position that would warrant his presence there anymore, did he? And he should also check on Declan as well, see how the Druid was holding up, help him get ready for the journey back to Ostia.

_"I promise you, no matter what happens in Camelot, I will be by your side when you'll be returning to Ostia..."_

He got up from the bed and almost fell on the floor, immediately feeling wobbly. Using one hand to steady himself on one of the bed posts he decided that before all else he needed to put some food in his belly. Seeing as no one knew where he had spent the night, Merlin didn't exactly expect to be served breakfast in bed. He would have to go get it himself. Just needed to wait a little while for his dizziness to recede and he would be on his way.

* * *

He had been lucky enough not to come across many people as he made his way to the kitchens. It seemed that it hadn't been as late in the morning as he'd originally thought. Mostly servants and members of the newly reformed guard roamed around in the corridors, and all of them avoided all contact with the warlock the moment they set their eyes on him.

When he got near the kitchen's door, the booming voice of the Cook came from inside, barking orders and threats like a true royal. Merlin felt oddly nostalgic. Of course it all stopped the moment he opened the door and stepped inside.

The first time it had happened, Merlin had felt awkward, alien. The second time hadn't gone any different. But this was the third time that he'd stepped into a room only for everyone else in it to go completely still and regard him with absolute dread.

If he hadn't felt so annoyed he'd laugh at the fact that even the Cook had gone silent. Instead he walked towards the closest bench and took a plate and a piece of bread that lay nearby. He searched around some more, ignoring all the terrified looks and the small gasps at his every move, concentrating to find something more solid to eat. It was clear that the royal stores had seen better days. There were half empty sacks of grains everywhere around, and the only wheel of cheese he'd managed to find was so mouldy it shouldn't be anywhere near the kitchens at that point. In the end, he had to make do with the bread, a small piece of dried meat and a cup of warm milk with a spoon of honey in it.

He neatly placed his breakfast in a tray, moving freely in the kitchens while everyone tried to get out of his way, let him be done and get out of there as soon as possible. He was ready to do so when the door opened loudly and a girl, Ledra, one of the younger kitchen maids rushed inside, holding a tray with dirty dishes in one hand and a large jug in the other.

"Lady Armelia was whining about the cheese tasting funny again - _God have mercy!_" she squeaked the moment she saw Merlin, the tray and jug falling from her hands crushing spectacularly on the floor in front of the warlock. No one dared breathe.

That was the last straw for Merlin. He could excuse some of their behaviour, understand that most of these people had been taught to fear magic from birth, but still, this was _him_. They _knew_ him. He had been working with them, been one of them, for years. Many of them had, _once_, called him a friend.

Now all he was in their eyes was a _sorcerer_. A dangerous, unpredictable monster. They probably expected him to start killing anyone who displeased him, judging by how pale Ledra had turned, seeming just about ready to faint. Didn't it matter at all to any them that he'd been the one who had saved them? That Morgana had been defeated, _killed_, because of him?

It was just so unfair. Yes, he could _understand_ why they had reacted the way they did, but that didn't mean he liked it. It was one thing to get no recognition or praise for your actions when no one knew about them, and a whole other to be feared just because of the way you achieved it.

_Well, I won't deny who I am any more, that's for sure_, he thought, stubbornly. Magic had saved these people's lives time and time again, they all owed Merlin more than they did those knights and lords they served.

It only took a flash of his eyes, a thought, and the mess on the floor cleared up; the pieces of the broken cutlery flying in the air, sticking back together until everything returned in a pristine condition and lay safely upon the kitchen bench.

The reactions to his magic were immediate and rather boring in their predictability. Some of them screamed, others tried to hide away from Merlin and amongst the rising chaos the Cook had selflessly taken her rolling pin in hand making as to attack the _evil sorcerer_.

They all stopped as soon as they realized that Merlin wasn't in fact doing anything to harm them. Not knowing how to proceed, most of the servants returned to stupidly gazing at the warlock.

Merlin shook his head, his disappointment threatening to quickly turn into bitterness. If that was the reaction he should expect after performing such a harmless, _helpful_ spell, then he didn't want to think about these people seeing him do something more substantial, or, havens forbid, lethal. It didn't matter that he was on their side, that what he did, he did it for _them_... No, to them, the only thing that mattered was that he was doing magic.

A hollow feeling of pointlessness overwhelmed him and Merlin suddenly felt asphyxiated. He had to leave that room immediately. It was like he couldn't breathe, not with all those eyes watching him, judging him.

He turned to pick up his tray, his hands almost trembling. But just as he was about to leave, the rotten wheel of cheese caught his attention once again and Ledra's words from moments before came to his mind. How the noble woman had complained about the quality of the cheese.

Merlin knew that many of the castle's servants had been underfed long before his departure with Lucan, and things during Morgana's reign could have gotten only worse. As almost all of the food in the kitchens was intended for the nobles' consumption, the staff was expected to survive on their meagre leftovers.

Merlin glanced around at the people that had once, not long ago but ages away, been his family of sorts. They looked scared and distrustful, but most of all, they looked tired and ill. They could all use some good, solid food.

Seeing that he couldn't possibly cause any _more_ harm with a second spell, the warlock softly muttered a few selected words, the language of the Old Religion rolling easily in his mouth, familiar and soothing. In the blink of an eye the mould on the food had disappeared and leaving the large cheese perfectly edible once again.

No one reacted. Well, none par from the Cook, whose sudden gasp made Merlin turn around, his tray still in hand, half expecting he would have to defend himself from a rolling pin attack. But what he saw surprised him, if only a little. The large woman had lowered her weapon and was regarding the now completely clean food with wide, unbelieving eyes.

It was a spectacle that he could have found rather amusing once, but now Merlin was too disappointed, irritated and frankly _hungry,_ to truly appreciate the hilarity of it.

"You're welcome..." he said to no one in particular, sounding softer than he'd expected, before heading towards the door with his breakfast in hand.

As soon as the door closed behind him, a loud buzz of voices erupted from inside the kitchens. Some things would never change, gossiping servants first amongst them.

* * *

"...just because of what one man has done. There is no reason to believe that other sorcerers will follow in his "good" example. This kind of decision could risk _everything_. Just think of what your father would say if he were still alive, Sire..." Lord Marcus trailed off, his voice coloured with gloom and disapproval, letting the insinuation in his words deliver the rest of his message to the young king. Beside him, many of the council members nodded their heads in agreement, their eyes fixed upon Arthur's still, seething form.

_But he's not_, Arthur wanted to scream to them.

_It's my kingdom now, my rules, damn you!_

On the king's side, his knights stood quiet, not daring to openly oppose the older man. Arthur though could hear both Gwaine and Leon squirming impatiently on their seats. They, more than the rest of his men, were the ones who knew Merlin the best, almost as well as Arthur did. They must be feeling the need to defend their friend.

But the occasion was too delicate, too important, for Arthur to risk anyone making a mess out of it by defending the sorcerer every time a noble said something against him. Arthur had stressed it out to his closest knights how vital this council was for the future of this Kingdom.

Of magic.

"I stand before you in this council to proclaim that, due to knowledge and information that only recently came to my notice, I've decided to once again allow the use of sorcery within the lands of Camelot."

The moment the words had left Arthur's mouth chaos had ensued. It had been as if he had dropped a chunk of fresh meat into a pit of wolfs, igniting a seemingly endless dispute.

Arthur needed the council to agree with him on this subject, otherwise he wouldn't stand a chance at changing the rest of the nobles' and subsequently the public's perception over magic. The Kingdom was still too weak to survive an internal crisis as well as the cold winter and the famine.

He needed _unity_, now more than ever.

As his first and strongest argument of defence, Arthur had brought to the table of discussion Merlin's role in Camelot's recent victory. Almost all the people present in the Council had seen his former manservant's fight with Morgana and everyone knew that it had been Merlin who had ended the witch's life.

They had been at it for hours. Apart from his closest knights who had steadily been supporting their King, the rest of the members of the council had all expressed their disagreement. Their points varied greatly. From fear of power and vengeance, to plain old superstition, Arthur heard it all.

One lord had even gone as far as suggesting that the king had probably been enchanted by "that _vile_ sorcerer" and that this had probably been Merlin's plan all along: to let the Kingdom turn to him in an hour of need and then exploit them with his _dark magic_.

Arthur had tried his best to stay calm. He had answered each question with reason and patience, despite the fact that some of the councilmen's arguments weren't even remotely logical.

Though Arthur had kept both Gaius and Guinevere out of this first meeting, Gaius being too close to Merlin not to have his allegiance questioned and Guinevere being in dire need of some rest, he had found an unexpected ally in the face of Sir Geoffrey. The elderly noble had stayed quiet during the first hours of the council, but when he finally spoke it had been to support his King's decision. He had talked about the old times before the purge and how it was possible for magic to be reinstated and not constitute a threat to either the population or the nobility. The last thing he had said had surprised Arthur the most, because Sir Geoffrey had more or less implied that magic had been used to Camelot's aid many times since Merlin's arrival. The King couldn't help but wonder if the old man had always been suspecting there'd been a magic user hiding amongst them. Perhaps Gaius had said something to him, since they were good friends.

It was past midday and they were still not even close to reaching a solution.

"My father was wise about a great many matters, Lord Marcus. But I'm afraid _magic_ hadn't been one of them. Not since my mother's death," Arthur replied coldly. The mere mention of Queen Ygraine's death was enough to silence even the most persistent of them.

"I've already explained to you where my father's logic had been based during those dark times. I _won't_ repeat myself," he added, the threat plain in his voice.

Someone cleared their throat from the side. It was Sir Ismaer, one of his father's best knights.

"Forgive me, Sire... but I think what Lord Marcus meant was that a... a decision like this is _too radical_ to be taken in a hurry. Magic has caused many a grievances to Camelot's citizens, my lord. The kingdom just isn't stable enough to withstand such a drastic change in the laws. Do not forget that the people are still recovering from Morgana's _magical_ oppression..."

Arthur sighed, well aware that the knight's words were right. Yes, the change couldn't happen immediately, not in a way that it could be a true, genuine change of believes rather than another form of oppression the King had commanded.

But it had to start from somewhere. Given time, everything would turn out the way he wanted, Arthur just knew it. It was all a matter of politics and right choices after all, and he was done making the wrong ones.

"I understand that completely, Sir Ismaer. That is why I brought this matter to the council. There have to be _stages_ for the transition to occur without any setbacks. We will need to form new laws for magic to be regulated."

That last sentence caused a slight sense of ease in the until then charged atmosphere. Many of the doubtful nobles relaxed visibly at the mention of new laws for the regulation of magic. From then on the conversation drifted towards Camelot's knights and their ability -or lack of- to enforce the law in a magical population and Arthur dared hope he'd made at least some sort of progress with the subject at hand.

The council came to an end without any final decision made, though it was clear that the majority of its members were, perhaps reluctantly, beginning to accept the idea of a return of magic. Of course Arthur knew there were still many matters left to be discussed, details to be agreed upon in the imminent future. But another meeting had been already scheduled for the following day and Arthur was convinced that it would go even better than this one.

The King left the council chambers feeling more hopeful than he'd felt in a long time. But still something was missing. He couldn't help but feel strange walking the corridors alone without the shadow of his manservant, his friend, a mere step behind him.

He found that, unsurprisingly, it was Merlin with whom he wanted to share these good news first the most.

Merlin's magic had been the cause of Arthur's change of heart, after all. This was a first step towards settling the debt of honour between the two of them and the start of something new, hopefully better.

* * *

Mithian had spend the better part of her morning preparing for her departure on the following day. Queen Guinevere had argued that with the weather getting worse each day on, perhaps it would have been best if the Princess spent the entire winter in Camelot, as a guest of the King. But Mithian, as much as she had bonded with Gwen, longed to return to her home and her father, and leave behind the painful memories of Morgana's reign.

Gwen had dropped by around midday and the two royals had ended up having their lunch together. Neither spoke of the events of the previous days, or last evening's funerals. Instead they talked about their plans for the future, Gwen's hopes for Camelot to make a quick recovery and Mithian's plans for a new rose garden. After they finished, Guinevere had expressed her wish to visit her brother, Sir Elyan, who was still bedridden, having sustained a severe blow to the head during the battle. He wasn't in any kind of danger but Gaius had ordered him to stay in his rooms and the brave knight had been driven insane with boredom ever since he had woke up, on the previous day. Mithian offered to walk with her to keep her company and soon the two of them were making their way towards the other part of the castle, where the knights' quarters were situated.

They had just turned into one of the less crowded passages, when they came face to face with Merlin.

The sorcerer had obviously been outside, since he was wearing a long dark grey coat over his black trousers and tunic. His cheeks were coloured with healthy shade of red, probably from the cold and his hair looked wilder than ever.

"My lady," he greeted her politely, before turning towards Queen Guinevere to do the same. "Your Majesty."

Beside her, Gwen tensed at Merlin's distant formal greeting but remained silent. Trying to fill the growing silence Mithian thought fast. She noticed the sorcerer was holding a rolled piece of parchment in his hand.

"You we've been outside, Merlin?" she asked trying to sound extra cheerful, wincing as she realized she'd sounded more awkward than happy.

Merlin obliged her with an answer. "I went to bid Alator farewell."

"Oh, I see," Mithian nodded, not knowing what else to do since Gwen wouldn't speak. "Has he left then? Alator, he was the other... sorcerer wasn't he?" she asked, feeling strange to casually mention a sorcerer in a conversation such as this one.

"He has, my lady." He looked at her and then at Gwen, his expression unreadable. "If you'd excuse me, your highness. Majesty," he added in a hurry to leave.

"Merlin, please wait," the Queen asked him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm. Merlin said nothing in return, keeping his eyes lowered, though the Princess doubted it was because of reverence. More likely he wanted to avoid eye contact.

Mithian took a few steps back, trying to give the pair of them at least some sense of privacy for what was bound to be an emotional talk.

"Merlin," Gwen repeated, lower and gently. The warlock lifted his gaze then. Mithian thought she could see his resolve almost giving in, letting him show emotion. But the mask of indifference was soon back in its place.

Gwen must have seen it too. She didn't give up, though. "Arthur was looking for you..." she said.

"I wasn't hiding anywhere," he replied, shrugging.

"Will you go to him, Merlin? Please... Not for him, or me. Do it for yourself. You need to talk, you must realize this..." Gwen begged, concern written across her features.

Again, Merlin's visibly fought to keep his calm exterior. His mouth was set in a grim line but his eyes... they betrayed sadness, fragility.

_This is his defence_, Mithian realized. The only way Merlin could survive being hurt from the ones he cared about. By pretending he didn't care about them at all. By trying to distance himself from them.

He cleared his throat. "I will see the King this evening at the banquet, your majesty."

Gwen's reaction to this second rejection was a slight drop of her shoulders and a small sigh.

"He's determined to make things right, Merlin. You know him, he _will_ do it..."

Merlin had turned his head to the side, not meeting Guinevere's eyes. Mithian held her breath, feeling that maybe, _this time_, the warlock would relent. But it was in vain.

"Is that all?" he asked tonelessly and Gwen bit her lips, then exhaled shakily, as if she was moments away from crying.

"_Yes_. That is all," she whispered hoarsely, taking a small step back. Merlin looked surprised at her genuine show of distress, his mask of indifference finally giving way to a look of restrained concern. He walked away slowly, reluctantly one could say.

Mithian placed a comforting hand on Gwen's back.

"He doesn't want my friendship anymore..." the Queen said, sounding defeated. Mithian shook her head. It wasn't that.

"No. I think he just doesn't believe he can truly have your friendship. He doesn't know how to trust you, any of you, Guinevere..."

Gwen turned to her, smiling half heartedly, thankful. "Funny," she said to the Princess after a few moments. "You'd expect things to be the other way around..."

* * *

The truth was that Merlin had in fact been avoiding Arthur. He could admit that much, at least.

At first it hadn't been done consciously. The warlock had just been trying to keep himself as far away as possible from the rest of the castle's inhabitants. He'd spend most of his morning in Declan's rooms, helping the Druid gather the provisions and necessities for the long journey back to Ostia. Afterwards he'd met with Alator of the Catha, to talk before priest's departure.

Alator had left the city on foot, using a cape with a hood to conceal his characteristic appearance but otherwise not too afraid of people being able to watch him go. He gifted Merlin with a parchment, a rare map, he'd said, that displayed the five most sacred shrines of the Catha brotherhood, places of spiritual significance where a sorcerer could find his true connection with the world. Merlin had sincerely thanked him for such a precious gift. His last words to Merlin had been for him to _not shy from his destiny_, whatever that meant. Then the priest was gone, off to follow his own path, along with his silent companion.

After that, there'd been Merlin's run with Gwen and Mithian in the corridors, a rather uncomfortable incident. The warlock hadn't even realized the Queen had been so upset until he'd heard her voice break. It had been done unintentionally, from his part.

Merlin still couldn't figure out how he should have reacted to that.

If it had been the old Gwen, his servant colleague and friend, then he'd have known what to say. But Guinevere had long stopped being anything but the _Queen_ to him_, _a person that had only gotten more distant from him as time went by.

What was he supposed to do? As a servant he'd been scolded by Arthur for not using the right protocol with his Queen, for sounding too familiar...

The humiliation and hurt still stung, even after all the developments that drastically changed his situation. It had been a reminder of how different he was back then from all the rest, setting aside his magic. To them he was just a servant and they'd been obliging him by keeping him nearby, despite his famous ineptitude.

_Royal protocol... Do sorcerers even need to follow any protocols_? He wondered.

Technically speaking, the only thing sorcerers still needed to do in the eye of the law was to be burned at the stake.

If he thought about it more, there lay the exact source of his troubles. He had _no idea_ how he should act any more. Around Gwen, Arthur, around _most_ of his old friends. He and Gwaine had fortunately come to an understanding. Gwaine would always be his loyal friend, Merlin was sure of that by now.

But the others... Most importantly _Arthur_...

He'd left Gwen and Mithian to go hide, _literally_ hide this time, in one of the less used wings of the castle, where he knew he would not be disturbed.

And there he'd done nothing but think.

For hours.

Merlin would no longer hide behind the guise of the manservant, not ever again. He had spend too long in the darkness, had lived too many years being haunted by his true nature, unable to take pride in what he was, to breathe freely.

So, how would a sorcerer behave around these people? Around the King and the Queen of Camelot? The knights and the nobles of the court?

Should he even be there? Could he still belong amongst his old friends,? Had he forgiven the mistreatment of the past and instead focus on a new future?

Merlin didn't know if he was feeling angry or bitter against them, mainly _Arthur_, any longer. He didn't think so... He had never been one to hold a grunge for too long, though he certainly hadn't forgiven everything. Not yet anyway. Merlin had no doubt that, in time, he would.

He couldn't help but imagine what the future could hold for him now. A future without Morgana present as the constant threat. But when he tried to picture that ideal future, were magic was free and sorcerers living in peace and not hunted, he couldn't. He couldn't see anything pass the memories of mistrust and fear. Fear in the eyes of servants as they tried to get away from his path, in the eyes of nobles as they walked by him in the corridors, in the eyes of the people of Camelot.

To change all those people's minds was a task that seemed almost impossible. But say that it would happen... Say that Arthur somehow managed to get his people to agree with the return of magic. What would Merlin's role be in that future. Would he return once again in Arthur's service, only this time as Arthur's official sorcerer? Would that be any different from the life he'd lived all this time?

His title as Merlin, King Arthur's lousy servant, would be replaced by Merlin, Sorcerer of the King, but would the reality be any different to him?

Arthur's sorcerer. _Arthur's most deadly weapon, more likely_... He shuddered, the echoes of Morgana's screams filling his head with guilt.

Was that what he'd turned into? What his destiny had all been about? The great Emrys, the one who would bring magic and unity to the Kingdoms of Albion... was he just a weapon waiting to be placed in the least dangerous hands? To torture and kill in the name of destiny and his king?

All this time, Kilgharrah had been the one who had dictated Merlin's moves with his manipulative words of _advice_. Merlin's own puppeteer. Would he officially belong to Arthur now?

Emrys and the Once and Future King. The two sides of the same coin, bound together by destiny. How strange and alien it sounded now... Laughable, even.

Lucan had believed in it, though. In Emrys and his cause. These old prophecies had been the reason the Ostian Prince had ended up in Camelot in search of a warlock of legends after all.

Instead of the legend, Lucan had found the shell of the man Emrys could have been. A broken toy of fate. And the prince had done whatever he could in order to fix it, to mend Merlin, but it had only served to get himself killed in the end.

He couldn't forget what he'd realized when Lucan had opened his eyes to everything. How betrayed he'd felt, by everyone and everything around him. And mainly, by his own self, for giving up, resigning in a life of servitude, not to Arthur, but to the supposed Once and Future King. To the best of the best.

Leaving Camelot with Lucan had been the only way to break the circle, to challenge his destiny. Now though, it felt like destiny had won, again, never mind how hard he'd fought against it. What good had he done by leaving? Lucan was dead and Merlin... He'd been forced to face the fact that what he'd turn out to be was a far cry from what he'd wanted to become when he'd first arrived in Camelot, years ago.

Then again, in a different, deep part of Merlin's mind, lingered all those _other_ memories. The ones that he would always hold and cherish, no matter what changed in his world. The caring eyes of his mentor as he promised countless times in the safety of their rooms that everything would turn out alright in the end. Arthur's expression when he'd finally said to him that he'd been wrong about magic, admitted that he'd owed Merlin. Deeper than anything else, almost hidden as a precious treasure to be protected from all the hardships that had overwhelmed his life, were the memories of just him and Arthur, the _Prince_ of Camelot, together.

Laughing, joking, bickering. Being there for each other.

Unaware to the warlock, the time for the banquet Arthur would hold in celebration of his victory -of course it would always be King Arthur's victory for these people, wouldn't it- came and went by and still Merlin just sat alone, with only his confused thoughts to keep him company.

It was well after midnight when Arthur eventually managed to find him, and Merlin had finally made up his mind.

* * *

A/N: Evil cliff-hanger is evil. What will Merlin's decision be, I wonder? Please leave a comment and tell me what you think will happen!

Now, there are a few things I'd like to say in the end.

**WARNING FOR S5 SPOILERS UP TO EP 9 PLUS DELETED SCENES**

**Spoilers people, I'm serious...**

**You have been warned...**

So, I was a bit freaked out when I saw the deleted scene from ep06 where Merlin basically showed us he was feeling responsible for Morgana turning out the way she did! I mean... it's so strange to have your theories confirmed in canon. Anyway...

About the scene I wrote in the throne room with Merlin and Morgana. I know that many of you expressed doubts, saying that Merlin would never purposely hurt someone like that, almost torture them before finishing them off. But then ep09 came and Merlin showed no qualm in using force to extract information from the Dochraid, plus giving her a final blow when he was done, so I think that, again, canon helped me out a little bit here :P. But in the fic Merlin does explain his actions and thoughts at that particular moment, so there is that too...


	22. Chapter 21: The decision

A/N: Well then... Here we are. This is the final chapter of the story. It's a little over 9.000 words, this one. Think of it as a holiday present from me to all of you.

After this one there will also be an epilogue.

Thank you all for your support! You've been wonderful... And a special thank you to my beta **Arwyn-T** for putting up with me and my mood swings and doing an incredible job with my story.

* * *

**Chapter 21: The decision**

Arthur had been searching for Merlin for the better part of the afternoon without any real success. He had managed to obtain a rather detailed knowledge of Merlin's morning from various sources, such as servants and guards -even the Druid Declan-, but around midday, the warlock's trail seemed to disappear.

As if by _magic_.

It was Guinevere that had seen Merlin last. She had returned to their joined chambers from a visit to her brother and informed the King that Merlin had indeed been aware that Arthur had been looking for him and that he'd said he would meet him in the banquet that evening.

"I tried to talk to him, Arthur. I told him he should come to see you," she had added in the end, with a small sigh. The king accepted it calmly, figuring he could -and would- wait a few hours more. If Merlin needed time for himself, either to think or grieve, then Arthur would in turn behave like the generous King that he was and let the warlock have it.

The banquet was held in the great hall, as per usual. Though, compared to Camelot's past celebrations of victory, this one could barely live up to its title. There was little food to be found in the kitchens these days, mostly bread and dried meat from the nearly empty stores, but, thankfully, the small hunting party Arthur had send out earlier that day had returned home quickly and with a wild boar as its pray no less. It wasn't like the lavish feasts of old, but it would do. The knights and nobles had their food, plenty amount of wine and even more stories about their victory over Morgana to keep themselves occupied for the evening.

Despite all that though, Arthur still felt uneasy, unable to relax and enjoy the feast. It wasn't just him, the general atmosphere of the banquet was a little strained. Though many of the knights were genuinely enjoying themselves, Sir Gwaine first amongst them, many of those present were oddly quiet, reserved. Most of them, Arthur realized, were members of the council. If asked to make a guess, the king would say that the talks about the legalization of magic had something to do with their subdued behaviour.

And then, there was Merlin.

Arthur hadn't been expecting his former manservant to show up early at the banquet. He knew that the warlock would probably want to enter the room discretely half way through the feast, when everyone around would be too inebriated to pay him any attention. So the King just held back on his wine and bid his time.

But as time went by and Merlin was nowhere to be seen, Arthur started worrying. And when courtiers began excusing themselves, returning back to their chambers for the night, Arthur realized that he was waiting in vain.

Merlin wasn't coming.

The disappointment must have been evident on his face because Gwen soon placed her delicate hand on his, offering him her silent support with the gesture, while Mithian, who had been with them at the royal table but had also been uncharacteristically quiet, just looked at him with pity and sadness in her eyes.

While Arthur appreciated their concern, he didn't welcome their comfort. For all they knew, Merlin could have just lost track of time, forgotten he had said he would come. He had always been scatter minded, and now that Arthur knew why, it seemed only logical. The warlock wasn't _rejecting_ them, he had simply forgotten.

That _had_ to be the case.

"Would you excuse me. Princess Mithian, Guinevere..." he said, pushing his chair back in order to leave. "I'm..." he started with every intention to explain his departure, but his wife just nodded, understanding as always.

"Go," she said to him, "Find him, Arthur. Talk..."

The moment Arthur was outside the banquet hall, he started walking without really having a specific destination in mind. He just let his mind wonder while his instinct guided him.

He didn't visit any of the places where Merlin could logically be founded. Instead, he walked away from those parts of the castle, towards the less frequently used ones, into corridors and halls he hadn't set foot on for years.

He ended up standing outside the door of an old study, the light coming from inside betraying the presence of someone inside.

He was about to reach out and open the door when it moved on its own, the hinges creaking loudly in the silence, until it was completely open. _Magic_.

Arthur stepped inside to find Merlin sitting on a chair near a small desk, watching him with a guarded expression. The room was half empty, clearly out of use for years. Arthur had never been inside it in his life, that was certain. Its only furniture were a few battered-looking wooden chairs, a small study desk covered with dust and an empty bookcase that missed several shelves. There were torches lit on the walls and the temperature was strangely warm, despite the lack of a lit hearth, both obviously results of sorcery.

Arthur was pleasantly surprised to notice that he really wasn't affected in any way by Merlin's obvious use of magic.

Right... _Merlin_.

For a moment, the King felt unsure of how he should proceed. He stepped closer to the seated man, but chose to remain standing, not taking the chair located neatly opposite Merlin's own.

"I was looking for you. You weren't at the feast..." Arthur began, skipping the pleasantries and diving straight to the point. His thought of the warlock having lost track of time had vanished the moment he set eyes on him. He had the strange feeling that Merlin had been waiting for him to come all along.

Merlin didn't answer immediately. He looked like he was weighing his answer, thinking of what he would say and the thought made Arthur grow anxious. But when Merlin spoke, the King was surprised to hear him do so in an almost teasing manner.

"I would _hardly_ call that a _feast_. There was almost nothing edible in the kitchens in the morning, can't see how it would be any different in the evening..." Merlin's eyes sparkled with mirth and Arthur relaxed, feeling the knot in his stomach he hadn't even realized was there ease. He could see glimpses of the old Merlin, his friend and confidant, breaking the warlock's until now distant exterior.

"If you must know, Sir Dunstan lead a party that brought back a wild boar. And we had plenty of wine too..." he answered, letting his voice sound a little bit exacerbated, what Merlin used to call his prat mode.

Merlin's eyes narrowed slightly. "Well, then," he replied. "I'm sure Sir Gwaine was delighted."

A small laughter escaped Arthur's lips. Merlin was smiling now, a real, unabashed smile, and the King felt elated at the thought of it being the result of their banter. Suddenly, everything felt easier. Hopeful.

He took the seat then, bringing it closer to the warlock. Merlin's smile faded then, until he was just looking like he was deep in thought. Of course that reminded Arthur of his original intent to find the other man. The council. More importantly: _the change in the laws_. It was the first good news he would be able to bring Merlin after all that had occurred between them, and he just couldn't wait to see the warlock's reactions to it.

"I wanted to talk to you, Merlin," he said in all seriousness.

The warlock didn't even blink. "Then talk," he said.

Though Arthur felt a little bit unnerved being under the scrutiny of Merlin's unwavering gaze, he tried to ignore it. He took a deep breath and started explaining.

"I'm sure you've heard about today's council meeting. Though you couldn't have heard of its subject. Indeed, what was discussed is highly confidential between the council participants, though with it being such a controversial issue, I would be surprised if word hadn't already gotten around amongst the servants about it..."

Arthur knew he was babbling, but couldn't help himself. But, despite that, the King didn't fail to notice the way Merlin cringed hearing that last sentence, a pained expression flashing through his face momentarily.

That caused the King to pause, sensing something was amiss. "Merlin...?" he asked after a few moments, unsure of what he should expect. Had someone from the serving staff told him about the meeting, then? Was he perhaps mad at Arthur for not being invited?

The warlock shot him an almost exasperated look, one that, in the past, he had always used as an insult to the king's intelligence -or lack thereof-, before he answered. "Do you really think any of the serving staff would _dare_ come close enough for me to hear them gossip, Arthur?"

Arthur faltered hearing the poorly concealed hurt in Merlin's voice. He wasn't surprised by what the other man told him, not exactly. He had expected his people to treat a known sorcerer with prejudice and fear. The law hadn't even been changed yet, it was normal. But those people, the _servants_ of the castle, they had been Merlin's friends for years... Surely that should have counted for something, shouldn't it? That, combined with the fact that almost everyone must have heard of Merlin's crucial role in the battle by now should be enough for them to accept him.

Arthur had just not considered how Merlin's relationship with his old co-workers had changed as well, along with everything else. This would have to be another obstacle for Merlin to overcome.

"I... I hadn't realized," he muttered, shifting awkwardly in his chair. It creaked loudly.

Merlin huffed in return. "No. You never do..." he murmured under a sigh, turning his gaze away from the King.

Uncomfortable with the direction the conversation was taking, Arthur decided it was time to give Merlin the good news he had come to deliver.

"I told them I plan on repealing the ban on magic, Merlin," he said, perhaps a little too loud, but definitely succeeding in taking all of the warlock's attention. "That's what was discussed at the council today. I made an announcement, said that I had changed my mind, that _you_ had changed my mind about sorcery..."

He was rewarded with Merlin's face softening, a look of fondness and hope dawning in his eyes. Arthur's confidence grew.

"There were many objections at first..." he continued, just to point out the amount of difficulties he had had to overcome in this grant endeavour. "But I think that, by the end, we made some serious progress. Yes, a lot of details remain to be decided later on, a lot of talking still has to take place, but, _Merlin_..." he paused, feeling excited for the first time in a long while. Finally, he had _something_ to offer to his friend. Finally, he would start repaying his debt. "Magic _will_ return to Camelot."

_It has already began_.

Arthur waited for Merlin's reactions with eager eyes. But he was puzzled by the outcome. Though the warlock did look happy about the news, he did not look surprised. Perhaps he had been expecting it? Arthur deeply hoped that that was the case. It would mean that Merlin trusted him enough to believe in his promise. It would mean progress.

Finally, Merlin spoke. He sounded pleased but a little subdued as well.

"I'm glad Arthur. Thank you, honestly."

Arthur shook his head. He hadn't acted only to appease Merlin. The law regarding magic was fundamentally wrong and Arthur wouldn't be the man he was, the knight and King, if he didn't act on it. "Don't. It was the right thing to do... therefore it was the only choice I had."

Merlin looked impressed. _So_ _that had been the right thing to say... _Arthur though was pleased with himself. Indeed, this was going better than he expected. Merlin was much more receptive than he'd previously been, approachable. Things were already working out for them.

He sat straight in his seat with renewed vigour. "Now," he began, feeling confident. He could proceed with the rest. "About tomorrow's meeting. I was thinking that you should attend as well, Merlin. Now _I know_ that you don't hold most of my council in the highest of esteems, so please don't start complaining about them and, more importantly, don't do it in front of them..."

"Arthur..." he heard Merlin trying to interrupt him. Merlin famously detested council meetings almost as much as he did the councilmen themselves.

"No, I mean it, Merlin," the King reprimanded his friend lightly. "I'm sorry, but, while _I _know how much you have done for me and for Camelot, these people don't. They will need to be convinced that you don't pose a threat to the Kingdom. Gradually, we will win their trust, you'll see. Together..."

"_Arthur_..." Merlin insisted, more forcefully this time.

"Don't worry," Arthur rushed to reassure him. He understood, he really did. It was unfair for Merlin to have to fight to gain their trust, he who had saved their lives more times than they could imagine, but alas it was the only way. "Once they're more open, more ready, then we will tell them the whole truth about you. What you've done for all of us. Things will change for you, Merlin..."

"Arthur," the warlock interrupted a third time.

Something in Merlin's tone finally got through to the King. It had been... He turned his full attention back to the warlock, confused.

Merlin had sounded sad.

Looking at him, Arthur could see it clearly now. Merlin's whole body was tense, his mouth a thin line of worry and his eyes seemed strangely remorseful.

Something was definitely amiss.

Had something happened? Was that the reason Merlin hadn't attended the banquet? Could someone have hurt-

"I'm not staying, Arthur."

Merlin's words came out a little louder than a whisper but caused every thought in the King's mind to disappear.

Panic.

"What..." Arthur began, his voice cracking embarrassingly so.

He was thirsty, that was all. Yes. The wine from the banquet... He must have drank a lot more than he had originally thought... That was the reason his throat felt so dry. The reason he was hearing things. He must have misheard Merlin as well. A misunderstanding, that was all.

"What do you mean _you're not staying_?" he asked, the words tasting funny in his mouth. Wrong.

His eyes stay fixed on the warlock, waiting for an answer, a hint, anything that betrayed he had indeed been mistaken and that Merlin hadn't said anything about leaving. But when Merlin replied, it was only to discourage Arthur even more.

"Declan is leaving tomorrow. He's heading back to Ostia."

Yes, Arthur knew that. And he really didn't like where this was heading.

"I'm going with him," Merlin finished.

Arthur tried to calm himself, to think rationally. Declan was leaving for Ostia carrying the Ostian Prince's ashes. Perhaps this was all that Merlin meant? That he had to pay that final tribute to the man who had sacrificed his life for him?

"You want to escort Lucan's ashes back to his father then..." he assumed, hoping for a confirmation.

"I made him a promise," the warlock revealed, lowering his eyes.

Arthur almost laughed from relief. _Not leaving me, then. Just escorting Declan to Ostia_. He exhaled shakily, closing his eyes and allowing himself a few moments to regain his composure. His mind immediately went back to business. Merlin's departure right in the middle of the talks about magic, right when Arthur needed him to be there, was indeed unfortunate. But the King's plans weren't entirely unsalvageable. "I guess we could hold back the council's final decision for a few days, to have you present there. Reschedule..." "When will you be back?" he asked.

But the next words coming out of Merlin's mouth put an end to whatever plan Arthur had been making.

They left him numb and at a complete loss.

"I'm not coming back, Arthur," Merlin said, simply, _softly_, turning his chin slightly up as if daring Arthur to contradict him.

Arthur, though, couldn't speak at all, even if he wanted to. His words were failing him, it seemed. His mind was in a disarray, trying to overcome the shock, the _implication_ of Merlin's announcement. As much as he ran it in his head, though, he couldn't fathom it.

"I-I don't understand..." he managed to gasp in the end, his mind slowly reconnecting with the reality around him. "Lucan is gone now. There's nothing for you in- _in_ _Ostia_..." he whispered hoarsely. Each breath was becoming harder and harder to draw and the feeling of something constricting painfully in his chest was rapidly threatening to overpower him.

Merlin was leaving. He _wouldn't_ return.

He was _leaving_ them. Forever.

No.

This couldn't be.

A small voice on the back of his mind scoffed at Arthur's weakness. _Is this how a King behaves in times of distress?_

He wanted to scream, demand an explanation from Merlin -for the man had grown silent once again- but for all he tried, only one word escaped his lips.

"_Why?_"

* * *

Merlin had been told by Gwaine of how Arthur had acted after he had left Camelot with Lucan, but still, the King's response to the news the warlock had just delivered came as a surprise to him. Arthur was clearly trying –and failing- to hold himself together, to not fall apart . Merlin had known this would be difficult, for himself as well as for Arthur, but he had never expected the King to take the news so _hard_.

Arthur looked worse than he did when he had banished Gwen.

"Arthur..." he sighed. The other man had grown still and pale, tension turning his whole body to a marble statue of a seated King.

The warlock cursed his luck. This was going to be a lot more difficult than he'd thought when he was making his decision. He'd expected Arthur to protest, to demand Merlin to stay. He had prepared himself for that outcome. What he would say, how he would try to explain his reasoning to the King, make him understand that that was his only choice. And Arthur would have been either furious or at best not approving, would have felt bad, perhaps lash out, said something hurtful and petty, but in the end would have gotten over it quickly.

Arthur had his Kingdom back, after all. He had his Queen, his friends, his allies. He'd even changed his mind about magic, taken the first steps towards lifting the ban, in truth there was nothing he need Merlin around for.

Thus, Merlin couldn't understand why Arthur acted as though he'd told him the worse possible news.

Like he'd learned of the death of a loved one.

Merlin realized that he still hadn't answered Arthur's question. The king turned his head towards him, moving at last, though slowly and strained.

Arthur's eyes were red, Merlin noted. Red and fixed solely upon the warlock, while his hands, moved back and forth, slightly shaking, grasping the wooden arms of his chair. A mix of disbelief, denial and something else, something that Merlin could only interpret as hurt was written plainly on Arthur's face. It almost made the warlock feel ashamed of what he was about to say.

Almost. In hindsight, it mattered little where Merlin's final decision was concerned.

He sighed, rubbing his temples slightly with tired movements. How could he say this?

"I have given this a lot of thought, Arthur, believe me," he began, carefully. "You ask me why, but you really wouldn't want to hear the answer to that question..."

He let it sink in, avoiding Arthur's betrayed eyes by letting his own linger on his hands, folded defensively in front of him. No sound came from the man before him. When he finally ventured a glance, he found Arthur staring at him expectantly, tight lipped, eyes hard but at the same time unreadable.

"You really wish to know why I want to leave?" Merlin repeated.

Arthur just nodded affirmatively.

Well... Merlin _had_ warned him, he had told him he wouldn't like the answer. But since the King insisted...

Merlin wouldn't lie, not any more.

"Very well, then."

He looked straight to the other man, steeling himself. "It's because of you, Arthur. Because of you and Gwen, and Lucan, and Morgana... Because of _everything_ that has happened. But most importantly, because of _me_. Because I've finally realized that this, leaving Camelot, is what's best for _me_."

Merlin finished, breathing hard, noticing belatedly that his voice had turned harsh and loud with his last words. He hadn't meant for it to happen, but then again, this wasn't exactly easy for him either. Arthur looked like he had been punched in the face.

"What are you talking about, Merlin... Camelot is your _home_." Arthur's voice thick with incredulity.

The warlock shook his head. "No, Arthur," he responded, carefully keeping his voice from raising. "It's yours. _Your_ home, not mine. The only reason _I_ ever stayed here was because I was protecting _you_. Serving you," he explained. Perhaps at one point Merlin had deluded himself into thinking that Camelot was his home as well, that that was the reason he had to stay, but now he understood better. "The place you call home isn't necessarily the place of your birth or residence. It's the place where you can be yourself, where you are free and feel safe. _That_ is the true meaning of home, and Camelot has never been that for me..."

Arthur was grasping the arms of his chair tight enough to break them in half, but otherwise appeared to be making an effort to understand. He nodded his head slowly, less agreeing and more acknowledging Merlin's words. "And you think Ostia can become what Camelot couldn't..." he said, seeming to struggle with the words.

Merlin himself had asked that question once. Now, though, he knew the answer.

"Actually, no. I don't think that Ostia could become my home. I owe it to Lucan to return him to his father's lands. I had made him a promise I intend to keep. Even if that hadn't been the case, Lucan sacrificed his life for me, the least I could do is bring King Leonard the news of his only son's demise myself. I can only hope that I'll still be welcomed in Ostia's lands after that..."

"Then _why,_ Merlin?" Arthur exclaimed, finally getting up from his seat. In a moment of pure frenzy, the king grasped the warlock from the hem of his shirt, shaking him.

"_WHY_? If you're not thinking of staying in Ostia, why not return to _Camelot_?" Each word punctuated with a sharp move of his hands.

Merlin, surprised by Arthur's unexpected attack, barely managed to contain his reactions. He knew Arthur didn't aim to harm him, as well as he knew that he could fend the man off with a thought. But he could also see that Arthur was hurting, that he was beside himself.

Merlin would have to be the one to keep calm. There wasn't anyone else around this time, and if a real fight broke out, then the consequences could be grave indeed.

He looked into the king's wide eyes, face inches away from Arthur's own, and silently demanded to be released. His irises flared golden with power, just enough to remind the other man of who exactly he was dealing with, what he could unleash.

After a beat, Arthur seemed to realize just how much he had lost his self control. He let Merlin go, his fingers unclasping one by one from the dishevelled fabric of Merlin's tunic, and took a wavering step back in order to distance himself from the warlock.

Merlin held himself back until Arthur looked a bit calmer.

"_Why_?" he said harshly, getting out of his chair and rising to his height. "Because I _cannot be myself_ in Camelot anymore, Arthur! _That's why_!" he hissed, anger flaring in him, no matter how much he was trying to suppress it.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his temper. When he spoke again, he sounded a lot more composed than before. "What Lucan made me see, what these past days' events have taught me is that I no longer know who I am. Merlin... Emrys..." he paused, turning away from where Arthur stood and starting pacing.

"Don't you see? I never wanted to end up like this, Arthur... I could _never_ have imagined me turning out so cynical and ruthless. A killer! _That_ is who I am. I have been one for a long time now..." He was gesturing as he walked, sharp moves of his arms that channelled his frustration.

"It's this place that did this to me. This _destiny_ I was tricked to succumb to and work for all these years... The lies, the deceits, the politics, the intrigue, the wars and the traitors, _everything!_ Everything that I've had to face all alone without expecting even a word of gratitude from anyone, ever. It _changed_ me, Arthur... and not for the better."

The warlock touched his forehead, feeling a blooming headache. The fight had left him now, as he exposed his inner thoughts and feelings, the part of himself that he had held secret for so long. Turning to look at the King, he let every bit of doubt and fear he had been feeling for the past few days seep into his voice.

"I'm afraid that, if I stay, I will lose whatever little is left of myself. Of Merlin, the boy from the small village of Ealdor, born with magic and a thirst for knowledge and adventures. This place will eventually succeed in killing him..."

"_No_, Merlin," Arthur cut in, his tone pleading. "This was all before... Things _will_ be different from now on! You won't have to hide anymore, you won't be facing _anything_ on your own. We will be doing that together and everyone will know and thank you for it."

Merlin wanted to laugh at the apparent simplicity of the other man's arguments.

"And when will that happen, Arthur?" he retorted sharply, his voice laced with bitterness. "Because right now, all I see is distrust, fear and disdain every time I take a look around me. No appreciation in theslightest. _I don't belong here."_

Arthur grimaced, face darkening with frustration. "It's only been_ one day!_ Give them a little more time, won't you? They've just found out that a person they've known for years and considered one of their own is a powerful sorcerer, it's understandable for them to be unsure..." he tried to reason.

Merlin interrupted. "That's just it, though. If I were a less powerful sorcerer, a healer or a soothsayer, then maybe they would be more accepting... But I'm _Emrys_, Arthur. I'm the most powerful sorcerer in the _world_." Then he stopped, considering another aspect of this problem for a moment before he continued, more soberly. "And there's something else. I can guarantee you that every malevolent force in the five Kingdoms and beyond will try to use my presence in your court to undermine your authority and bring about chaos. How could the people trust magic under those circumstances?"

He knew that if Arthur had been in a calmer state, he would have recognized the severity of the problem Merlin had just pointed out to him. But the other seemed unfazed, determined not to accept what he told him, all the reasons that he had given to back up his decision.

"We will manage the rumours. The people will warm up to you sooner or later," Arthur dismissed with a move of his hand. "Most of them still remember pelting you with rotten vegetables, for goodness sake! It won't be difficult to persuade them you're the same person..."

"I'm _not_, though," Merlin cut in, not liking what he was hearing in the least. "I will not pretend to be your fool anymore, Arthur."

The King was taken aback. "_What_? I never said you were my-"

"Don't you think for a _second_ I have forgotten the reason I left Camelot in the first place," Merlin suddenly turned cold. "Yes, now that you know how much you owe me you treat me differently. You ask for forgiveness. But , if I stay... who's to say that you won't go back to treating me the way you did before all this? I won'-I will never again let any of you..." he trailed off, realizing that he had gone from sounded threatening to wounded in the span of a few sentences.

Arthur had gone deathly pale. "I _wouldn't_," he denied, voice faint. "None of us will make that mistake again, Merlin. Please believe me when I say we have all paid dearly for our behaviour towards you. We've learned our lesson. I've learned mine the hardest way possible."

He sounded sincere. But Merlin had been through too much to believe things could ever be so simple. "How can I be sure of that?" he questioned. _How can I trust you?_

"You just..." he King exhaled. "It is _not fair_ of you to say that... Is that what you really think of us? Of _me_?" He looked sad and disappointed.

It made Merlin feel oddly guilty.

"No- _Arthur_... I don't know," he admitted, quietly. "I just know that I can't risk it happening again."

He spoke slowly, every word coming from the depths of his heart, from the suppressed place he had been burying his dreams and expectations all these years.

"_I need time,_ Arthur. To see the world. To learn... I have yet to learn _so many things _about magic! And I can't do that here, in Camelot."

Even if the resources there weren't as limited as they are, Merlin doubted he could freely practice his magic to the extend he needed within the castle. The prospect of learning more about magic and its people had been one of the aspects of Ostia he had been drawn to. Merlin wanted, now more than ever before, to finally master his powers, live up to his potential.

"You have truly made up your mind, haven't you? There is nothing I could say that could persuade you to stay..." Arthur muttered monotonously, jerking Merlin out of his thoughts.

The warlock let the question linger between them without answering it, his silence speaking volumes instead.

_Yes. I have... _ and _I'm sorry..._

It was obvious from the way the King cleared his throat more than once that the man struggled hard to get the next words out.

"Will I... will I ever see you again?"

Merlin was startled, not from the question itself, but from the way Arthur looked while voicing it. He knew that expression, he could understand the other man's body language perfectly, had years of experience.

Arthur was preparing himself for a mortal blow.

For the worst.

And Merlin had to admit that Arthur's reaction spoke only of one thing: loss.

Not loss of an advantage, or a mighty weapon, what one would presume the King would consider a powerful warlock like him to be, but loss of a vital person in Arthur's life, a member of his family.

A friend and brother.

Could this emotional reaction really be all about Merlin? Or had the warlock just misread the signs?

No... he could see it clearly in Arthur's stance, the way his eyes regarded Merlin, pleading and resigned, all pretence of rank and protocol gone. Arthur was desperate.

It dawned to Merlin then that Arthur _truly was sorry_ for everything he'd said and done. That he was honestly trying to be his friend again, not because of the debt he owed Merlin, not because he was Emrys and Arthur wanted to claim the title of the Once and Future king, but simply because Arthur needed him in his life.

Him. Not the warlock, not Emrys, but _Merlin_.

Merlin had done a lot of thinking these past hours away from the rest of the world. He'd thought about destiny and magic, about Arthur and Lucan, the past and the future. He'd come to a lot of realizations about many things, but most importantly, he had realized some very important facts about himself and his relations to others.

No matter that it had been done inadvertently up to a point, the fact was that Merlin had been hurt by the people closer to him. Not physically -though some of the chores Arthur had given him in the past could be considered _torture_ in some Kingdoms-, but emotionally. He'd been singled out, let behind, forgotten. And he was angry about that still.

But, despite of how angry he felt, how difficult he found it to let go of the past, Merlin also realized that he could never hate them. He could never hate Arthur.

And most importantly, he would never stop caring about him either.

He hadn't admitted it to himself back then, in the depths of the sacred Druid tunnels in Ostia, but even when Merlin had felt completely betrayed by Arthur, he couldn't really have left him walk to his death. He couldn't _not _have come to the man's aid, not when Arthur was facing a foe so much stronger than him on his own.

Until moments ago, Merlin had been convinced that the feeling wasn't reciprocated. That he, Merlin, wasn't truly important to Arthur, wasn't anything other than a powerful ally that the King wanted to please and even reward.

Take advantage of.

But now... Now he couldn't hide from the truth any more.

Arthur truly cared.

Would Arthur ever see him again? In his heart, there would always be only one answer to that question.

"I-I think so... yes," Merlin replied, surprising the king. Arthur's eyes, puffed as if he was holding back tears, sparkled with renewed hope. "I know you'll keep your word about returning magic to the land, Arthur. And, while this will take you a lot of time, it has to be done slowly, with small steps, in my heart, I don't doubt you will eventually achieve it."

Merlin's heart was beating fast. Though the possibility of him returning to Camelot had occurred to him before, this was the first time he felt he was actually looking forward for it to come true. For him to be able to come back, and come back for good.

"I think that a Camelot _like that_… That is a place I could one day call home."

There. He'd said it.

Arthur didn't say anything at first. The hope in his eyes didn't die, though it did diminish somewhat. Then he smiled, accepting Merlin's words with an edge of sadness hiding in the shadows around his eyes.

A few moments passed in silence. Merlin suddenly felt exhausted, like he had spend the past hour fighting a battle, instead of talking. Though, in a way, it _had_ been a battle. Between him and Arthur. Between the ghosts of his former life and his decisions.

Now, it was all over. He had nothing left to say. All that remained was to say goodbye.

Merlin extended his arm and Arthur took it in a firm grip and shook it.

Knowing he had to prepare for the journey head, he tried to move back towards the door only to be stopped by Arthur's hand still clasping his own without any intend of letting go. He turned. The King seemed unsure of what he was about to say and at the same time resigned.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" he murmured. Merlin felt it was more of a rhetorical question. Arthur didn't seem to expect an answer.

"_You_ were the true power in Camelot, all this time… Do you really think I can do this all on my own?" the King asked again, serious. The grip on Merlin's arm tightened slightly.

"Yes. It's your turn now, Arthur." Arthur didn't look convinced. "Morgana's gone for good," Merlin insisted using his own reasoning to make the other man see. "With magic returning to the land, no more will sorcerers have a reason to attack Camelot. This is your chance to prove yourself."

Merlin started pulling away, Arthur's hand clinging loosely on him. "And you have never been alone," he added. "You have Gwen and the Knights. Gaius. Even your council. You're their King. So act like one. Make _your own_ destiny. That's what I intend to do from now on, you know. Make my own fate."

If there was one thing the warlock had learned from all this, it was that the worst thing a man could do was to live his life the way others dictate it.

He moved back towards the exit, glad Arthur didn't stop him this time. The King just closed his eyes and nodded, once, a thank you or a curt dismissal, Merlin couldn't be certain.

He left the room, stepping out into the cold dark corridor.

Merlin knew he'd made the right decision. Just as he knew there was nothing he could really do to ease the growing feeling of emptiness in his heart.

And that feeling only intensified with each step he took away from Arthur.

* * *

Gaius had returned from the banquet to find his chambers empty. He had been half expecting to walk in there and find Merlin crouching over the oak working bench, mortar in hand, moaning about Arthur loading him with extra chores for the night.

Admittedly, Gaius had drank a little more than usual. But no one could blame him.

He was sorting some of his books, Morgana's mercenaries hadn't spared his bookshelves from 'inspection', probably looking for hidden gold or something equally ridiculous, when he heard the slight knock on the door. He called for whomever it was to come in and to the old man's great surprise, he came face to face with princess Mithian.

"My lady, what can I do for you?" he hurried to ask, stumbling towards the visiting royal in his night garments. Mithian, still in the gown she had been wearing for the feast, looked at him, blushing. "Oh, I'm sorry, Gaius. I'm disturbing… Of course I am. I didn't realize…" she said awkwardly, making an uncertain move to leave.

"Is there something you needed, my lady?" he asked her before she could back away.

Mithian dropped her shoulders, folding her hands in front of her defensively, as she turned to fully face him again. "I just…" she began, avoiding the physician's eyes. "I was looking for Merlin. I wanted to thank him for… Wanted to properly thank him for what he did for me. That is all," she said quietly, her cheeks turning an even darker shade of red.

Gaius felt the urge to smile seeing the young woman's shy demeanor. Of course he could understand it. It wasn't at all proper for a princess to be seeking an unmarried man, a known sorcerer no less, all on her own, in the late hours of the night.

The gossip that information alone would create could keep the entire citadel busy for _weeks_.

"I'm afraid he's not here, Mithian," he replied, kindly. The look of disappointment in the Princess' face was evident.

"No, I suppose he's not…" she agreed, looking around the quiet room with a look of dejection. "Do you… would you mind terribly if I stayed here a little while, Gaius? To wait for him…" she asked, her eyes pleading.

He nodded, smiling to the kind royal. "You are welcome to do so, my Lady."

They sat in silence, Gaius taking up the book sorting from where he'd left it, while Mithian sat on a nearby chair, sipping from a cup of herbal tea the old physician had swiftly brewed to offer to his visitor. The old man was beginning to consider telling the princess that she was probably waiting in vain, that Merlin was not coming in these chamber for the night. After all he had not done so for the previous night either.

But the dignified way the woman held herself while sitting there, patiently and without making any fuss, unlike most royalty, made him hold back. She would most likely grow tired soon anyway.

The sound of someone at the door, not knocking, but carefully and deliberately slowly turning the knob alerted both of them. Gaius moved up, hands going for a small frying pan discarded conveniently near him, while Mithian went rigid, eyes anxious.

Then Merlin came inside.

Gaius let out a relieved breath, while Merlin regarded the frying pan in the physician's hands with incredulity and a raised eyebrow. When the warlock noticed Mithian, his body straightened, taking a more formal stance.

"Merlin, my boy!" Gaius exclaimed happily. Merlin smiled at that, though one look at him had the physician realizing how unfitting the term 'boy' had become for his ward.

_A man. And a troubled one, at that. _

"We were beginning to think you wouldn't come…" Mithian said, surprising Gaius with her comment. Indeed, a very intelligent young woman that one.

"I'm sorry, my lady," Merlin replied. Gaius saw the way Mithian flinched when the warlock used the formality. Suddenly he felt like he was intruding, even though they were in his chambers to begin with.

"Please, Merlin. Just Mithian," she asked, shy but determined. Merlin's face betrayed his surprise. He nodded once, expression softer than before and the princess smiled. "I wanted to say thank you. For… for saving me from…" she managed to say, her voice faltering at the end.

Merlin's eyes widened, some kind of realization dawning in them. Gaius was left with the feeling there was something important he was missing in the conversation. His suspicion only grew when Merlin cleared his throat and hesitantly took a step towards the young woman.

"You don't have to thank me, Mithian. I'm glad you are safe and unharmed," he muttered.

Convinced now that this ought to be a private conversation, Gaius decided to excuse himself, give them some space.

"I should go make sure your bed is made, Merlin. Gwen had some freshly washed linens delivered this afternoon, you'll quite enjoy them…" he said as casually as he could, and promptly headed for the stairs leading to Merlin's small bedroom.

Merlin's response surprised him.

"That won't be necessary, Gaius. I'm only here to pack…"

The old physician froze mid-pace. He still had his back to Merlin and Mithian, standing on the first step to Merlin's room. He ducked his head, suddenly feeling the weight of time and old age looming over him.

Truth be said, Gaius had been dreading those words from the moment his ward had returned from Ostia.

"_Pack_… Are you going somewhere, Merlin?" he heard Mithian ask tentatively.

Without making any nose, the physician turned around, slowly, feeling tired. Merlin's voice sounded forced, like he was trying to sound casual, but failing, when he answered.

"I'm leaving with Declan tomorrow… Or, I should say today. In a few hours anyway…" The warlock's eyes shifted back and forth from Mithian to Gaius, expecting some kind of reaction.

Mithian must have caught on the slight change of the warlock's voice, for she grew silent and still. Finally, she nodded her head slowly, a frown forming on her beautiful face but otherwise not betraying anything more. An air of sadness filled the physician's chambers, something inevitable and perhaps even necessary. It tasted of farewell and separation.

It ended with a soft exhale. The Princess let her shoulders drop, shrinking. "Well then… You know you'll always be welcome in Nemeth," she said, her voice gentle, much like her eyes.

Merlin, seeming stunned by her declaration, nodded numbly. After a moment, a hesitant smile broke on his face. "Thank you, Mithian…" he muttered.

Shooting a glance towards Gaius and then one final look at Merlin's figure, Mithian bid them goodnight retreated towards the door.

The moment they were alone, Merlin turned to him.

"Gaius…?" he asked tentatively. Gaius supposed he must have been looking a little worse for wear. Not very surprising given the news he had just heard. He walked to the table and sat at a chair, gesturing for Merlin to do the same. The physician kept his eyes on his ward, following his every move. Thankfully, Merlin did not protest.

They looked at each other. The old mentor and the student, ready to take the next step. In the end, Merlin cleared his throat before pointing out towards his old room.

"I wanted to…The magic book you gave me, Gaius. Could I… Could I take it with me?" he said, voice rough.

The book… Gaius' could still remember the day he had first gifted his new ward, Hunith's magical son, with his old spell book. The wonder in the young boy's eyes, the gratitude he had shown him. It had been the first time in his life that Gaius felt what it would be like to have a son of his own. The first of many, all thanks to Merlin.

"Of course you can. It's yours…" he replied without missing a bit. Merlin thanked him silently, eyes moist around the edge. And then, the warlock smiled to him, his old, lopsided smile that never failed to fill the elder physician's heart with fondness and bring a pout of mock exasperation on his face.

He would miss Merlin dearly.

Merlin made a move backwards, a signal that he needed to go pack his belongings and that the time to say goodbye had come. Gaius knew instinctively that when he would wake up from his sleep, however early it might be, Merlin would be long gone. But the bitterness of that knowledge was lessened by the certainty that he would stay in touch, that he wouldn't disappear completely from the old man's life.

Merlin was just moving on. And no matter that Gaius didn't like it or agree with it, he understood that there was nothing he could say to change the warlock's mind. That he had no right to do so, anymore. It was time for Merlin to make his own decisions, he could see it now.

_Oh, Merlin… I'm so sorry things ended up this way_.

"Take care of yourself, my boy," he whispered, throwing his arms around the slight frame of his wards for the last time in a loving embrace.

* * *

It was just a little before dawn when Merlin made his way to the stables, carrying just one medium sized leather bag with him. All his life in Camelot, packed into something so incredibly small in comparison.

He had taken the book, of course, some clothes, though the quality of the fabrics was meager compared to the ones he was wearing, the ones Lucan had gifted him with. But Merlin had always been a sentimental sort of person, and the thought of leaving the neckerchiefs his mother had made for him behind had been disturbing. He wasn't sure if he would ever wear them again but he chose to hold on to them, a keepsake, of a kind. A reminder of where he had come from and of what he had been through. He'd also taken some food and water, and one of Gaius' healing salves.

Declan would set off at dawn, and though Merlin hadn't actually notified the Druid of his intention to join him, he was almost certain the other man would be waiting for him to come. If anything, just to say goodbye.

The corridors of the citadel were empty par from the odd guard and half asleep servant wondering aimlessly across them. Merlin didn't pay attention to any of them, since they did not directly cross his path. He suspected that his magic might subconsciously be shielding him from prying eyes, seeing as none of those people seemed to notice him passing through the halls of the castle.

Once he reached the courtyard, he relaxed slightly. The cold air of the near morning made him feel alive and fully aware of his surroundings. The sky above was starting to glow with the pale colors of the upcoming sunrise and a thrill of anticipation and trepidation palpated through the warlock.

He was doing this. He really was doing this on his own.

No one was forcing him to flee. No one was chasing him.

He had simply chosen this.

His steps led him to the royal stables. As expected, Declan's hood covered form could be seen from afar. He had already readied the horse Arthur had given him, a fine if a little aged stallion that belonged to the King himself –gift from an ally warlord-, and was leading it out of the stalls. The Druid's hand was caressing the horse's head calmly while turning around, as if sensing Merlin's arrival.

Declan stopped as soon as the horse was out of the stables. He kept a hand on the animal to keep it steady, while he greeted Merlin with a nod of the head, his free hand pointing out to the pack on the warlock's side.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, almost rhetorically.

"I figured you could use the company…" Merlin returned, knowing Declan would see through his excuse. Indeed, the Druid closed his eyes, understanding. Then, he shifted his head, gesturing towards the inside of the stables. Merlin turned his eyes towards the dark interior of the building. The sounds of animals waking was comfortably familiar. He felt an ache at the thought of it being the last time he would be able to hear it.

For a while, at least.

"I'll be waiting here…" Declan added and that seemed to be all the urge Merlin needed. He walked inside, eyes quickly adjusting to the relative darkness of the stables.

He walked towards his mare's stall, and, to his great surprise, he found the wooden door was left ajar. Alarmed, Merlin pushed the door completely open, prepared to face who knew what kind of sight before him. An empty stall, a wounded horse, maybe even dead.

But he hadn't been expecting that.

Arthur was brushing the mare's thick mane, long calm strokes that made the animal brush her nose lovingly to the King's frame. The sight was so strange it left Merlin at a loss.

Arthur didn't acknowledge him at first. There was no mistake he had heard the warlock enter, but he seemed determined to finish what he was doing.

Merlin noted that the mare was saddled, ready for him. But he hadn't seen any of the stable hands outside, nor had he heard anyone else being present inside the building.

"Arthur…" he called at last, unsure of what he should make of this. Was Arthur there to stop him? It certainly didn't look like it. On the contrary, it seemed that Arthur had even prepared the horse _for_ him… Was he sending Merlin away? Unable to accept a rejection, was the King trying to be the one to have the final say in this?

All these thoughts vanished the moment Arthur turned to look at him.

No. Arthur wasn't showing pettiness, or dismissal. He was showing gratitude.

_And pain… don't forget the pain. You can almost read it on his face…_ the voice in his head helpfully provided.

Without saying a word, the king took the reins in hand and walked towards the warlock, placing them in Merlin's unresponsive fingers.

Merlin looked at Arthur's face, wanting, needing to say something but finding himself unable to express what exactly. They had said all there was to be said. He wouldn't know where to begin from.

It seemed that Arthur realized that as well. He pressed the reins in Merlin's hands, the worn leather familiar and welcoming to the warlock, and when he finally grasped them, the King let his arm drop but didn't back away.

Merlin was overwhelmed by the gesture. Arthur's presence there spoke volumes. The King wouldn't let him leave without saying goodbye, not this time. Merlin felt oddly happy at that thought.

He turned to the horse, settling his bag on the left side of the saddle securely. He had noticed that a bedroll had been placed at the right side. He had the urge to laugh from amazement. To think that Arthur would prepare his things, remember a bedroll when the warlock himself had forgotten about it, was ridiculous to say the least.

He turned around to face the King. He was about to comment on that, an attempt to lighten the incredibly tense atmosphere around them, when he was stopped by Arthur, as the King enveloped him into a tight embrace.

Merlin was shocked, standing perfectly still for a moment, not knowing how he should respond. But Arthur didn't budge and finally, Merlin relaxed, allowing his hands to awkwardly come and rest around the other man's back.

He understood it then, Arthur's gesture.

It was a goodbye but also, it was a new beginning. As equals.

"Be safe…" he heard the King whisper, so soft it could have been his imagination, though the warlock doubted it. When Arthur stepped back, Merlin saw the tears threatening to spill from the warrior-king's eyes. He guessed he wasn't fairing any better himself. Slowly, he tugged the horse's reins, making the animal follow him as he exited the small stall.

He stopped at the stables' entrance, turning back to seek Arthur. Sometime during their encounter, dawn had broken, shedding its pale light upon the wakening citadel.

It felt cathartic.

The King had kept his eyes firmly on Merlin, a hint of a smile written on his face.

Merlin let the corners of his mouth rise up, imitating the other man. He mounted his mare swiftly, and, shooting a final look at the King of Camelot, he turned around, finding Declan already on his horse waiting for him. The Druid led the way out of the lower town, Merlin following close behind.

The only time Merlin turned to look back was when they had reached the top of a small hill just out of Camelot.

He allowed himself to gaze one last time at the gleaming towers and the wavering red and gold banners, unaware that at that same moment a pair of bright blue eyes on top of the battlements, eyes belonging to a certain young king, were staring right back at him.

* * *

A/N: I admit I was at the verge of tears when I was writing that final paragraph. Damn those two amazing characters. Merlin and Arthur I will miss you _terribly_.

I know many of you had been expecting Merlin to stay in Camelot, but I had already warned you this store wouldn't have a happily ever after ending. Indeed, there was a brief moment, right after watching 5x13, when I considered that maybe I should give you all a nice, happy ending - God knows you deserve one-, but then I decided to stick with my original plan. I think this was what the characters in the story needed anyway. I'm sorry if I let you down in any way.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story! I'll try to post the epilogue as soon as I can.

Please comment and tell me what you thought of the final chapter.

Oh… and happy 2013! ;)


	23. Epilogue

A/N: Again, sorry for the long wait!

Enjoy!

* * *

**Epilogue**

_Six months later_

Arthur paused, his fingers digging in the already too ruffled parchment, as echoes of steps came from behind the closed door. Only after they had faded once again in the distance did Arthur let himself breathe freely, his body relaxing from the defensive position he had unconsciously adopted.

Not that he'd been in any kind of danger if discovered. Well, not mortal danger at least. Just the combined powers of Gaius' disapproving eyebrow and Guinevere's concerned frown. Though, granted, those two could be quite intimidating when they put their minds to a common goal. Especially if that goal was Arthur. Lesser men had cracked under such pressure.

But not him.

He shook his head, his attention once again focusing on the item in his hands, the letter Gaius hadn't even bothered to hide from display while he ventured in the lower town to make his usual calls on his patients. Arthur couldn't help but wonder if the old physician had done it on purpose. After all, if there was one thing he'd come to realize these long months, that was that there was no one in Camelot who understood better the depth of Arthur's loss and the nature of the ancient bond that had been compromised –if not broken- than Gaius.

The small, almost illegible scribbles on the worn piece of parchment, even though not intended for his eyes but for the tired ones of the physician, still worked soothingly to calm his restless spirit.

_...the results were remarkable indeed. I wish that you could have been there to witness it with your own eyes, Gaius. No matter how colourfully I try to relay my experience, like many things in magic, you had to be there to truly appreciate its magnitude and splendour._

_As for what you asked of me in your last letter, I'm sorry, Gaius, but I can't. At least not yet. Arthur knows I need time away and I fully expect him to understand that this includes all kinds of communication between myself and him._

_And what would I write to him about anyway? Magic? Or how free I feel now, in contrast to how I felt back in Camelot under his rule?_

_No... I'm afraid that even if I did write to him, I would do Arthur more harm than good. I don't think I've completely forgiven him –or myself- yet. But I am honestly trying, my old friend. For the sake of my soul and his own, if nothing else._

_If they ask of me, then tell them I am well. Tell them that each day I rediscover myself. _

_Tell Gwaine not to spend too much time in the tavern, and tell Gwen that I wish her health and happiness._

_And Arthur. Tell Arthur not to worry, for I may be far away but I am still watching over his Camelot._

_Take care, my friend._

_Merlin_

He read those lines over and over so many times that, eventually, the words lost their meaning. The only thing that remained was the way Arthur's name stood out from the rest of the words, its letters slightly darker and larger, more prominent. Special.

The thought that Merlin had chosen to put them thus on the parchment...

Surprisingly, it didn't hurt much to read Merlin's rejection of any contact between them. It was as the warlock had said in his letter: Arthur knew not to expect anything better. And he had accepted that in his way by showing Merlin that he could let him go, if that was what the other desperately needed.

And it had been, at the time. Arthur had made the right call.

He had shown Merlin that he wasn't _that_ selfish.

_Or selfish at all._

But , most importantly, Merlin had never insinuated that he didn't intend to write to Arthur at all. On the contrary, he had specifically said that he was trying to overcome the past and that he genuinely wanted to succeed in his efforts.

Though Arthur's greatest desire was to have his right hand man and closest friend back, he had acknowledged months ago that every aspect of their relationship had changed irreversibly. If Merlin came back, no, _when_ Merlin would come back, they would need to rebuild it from the beginning, with new foundations. A friendship between two equals.

And they would succeed. Because, despite everything, they were _still_ Arthur and Merlin.

Time passed by. Soon, Gaius would return, and the council too was bound to send a page boy to inquire about the King's whereabouts. Camelot would be looking for her King. Arthur was very much aware of this pressing schedule.

He sighed, wishing he could hide away from the world for a little while longer. But Arthur Pendragon wasn't one to cower at the face of responsibility.

He sat up, Merlin's letter still in hand. He had accomplished what he'd come for anyway. He had no business in the physician's quarters to begin with.

The small parchment weighted heavily in his grasp, never truly leaving his mind. Gaius might not have been aware that Arthur had been keeping track of his correspondence with Merlin, but he must at least have suspected as much.

A brief inspection of the counter revealed a couple of scrunched pieces of paper with unfinished paragraphs full of "I miss you, my boy"s and "be safe"s as well as more than a few ink stains. He felt safe to assume that Gaius had already written and sent his response to the warlock, the man he loved like a son. Another detail Arthur had observed was that nowhere in the letters had there been any mention of an address or a destination. It wasn't hard to imagine why...

He tried to place the letter back down where he'd found it. But his hand wouldn't cooperate. It wouldn't let go.

Well... Gaius didn't technically need the letter any more.

With extra care, Arthur rolled the parchment in a neat cylinder that he then safely tucked away in his inner jacket pocket. Of course the old physician would know who had taken it and why, but he couldn't find it in himself to care.

Perhaps Gaius even meant for him to get possession of the letter. Perhaps not.

It didn't matter. Arthur needed to hold on to those words, those sentences, that, despite their apparent harshness, held a promise of hope as well.

With a surprisingly lighter heart than usual, the King of Camelot left the physician's chambers, ready to return to his never ending string of duties.

* * *

The horses shifted nervously as they slowly reached the top of the hill. The sky was a brilliant dark blue, thousands of stars sparkling brightly upon its weave. Merlin had discovered that some places, places of magic and ancient power, made everything appear different, better. Or maybe they just allowed the true nature of the universe to shine, uninhibited by the limitations of mortality and of men. Sites like this lone hill were the place where divinity touched the earth. Very few people in all the kingdoms could truly appreciate those sites' importance. It was a privilege of the most powerful and most wise of their kind, and Merlin was still in awe that he too was counted as one of them.

When the two riders reached the top, they stood there in silence for a long moment. Merlin exchanged a final look of farewell with Declan, not feeling the need to say anything more. They had said their goodbyes back at the druid camp, along with the elders and the friends he had made those few weeks. Months.

Merlin dismounted and secured his horse's reins to the back of Declan's saddle.

"_Don't worry Emrys, we'll take care of the mare until your return..."_ they had said, and Merlin had been grateful. The horse wasn't just any other animal. She had been a faithful companion to him for years. And when he left Camelot, he hadn't stolen her… She'd been a gift.

To Merlin, from Arthur.

As Declan left with the horses, Merlin turned his eyes towards the sky.

He had been debating this moment in his mind for months.

His time with the Druids had proven to be very enlightening, but despite the volume of knowledge he now possessed, he knew it had been just the beginning.

Merlin had wanted to know it all, to be able to travel to all planes of existence, to wield his magic like it were a sword in the hands of a seasoned warrior, to unlock the mysteries of the universe. But he'd always known that something was keeping him from achieving those goals. It wasn't just time he needed, but something else.

And after hours of meditation and many talks with the elders, he came to realize exactly where the problem lay.

He needed closure. More precisely, he needed to have an _extensive_ talk with a certain someone.

He was ready for it, now.

When he was certain the Druid had entered the safety of the forest once again, Merlin through his head back and cried the summons to the skies.

"_**O drakon, e mala soi ftengometh tesd'hup anankes!"**_

* * *

Gwaine was having a very busy morning. He had woken up late, with a terrible headache due to last night's excessive drinking, that had been only worsened by the persistent knocking at his door.

It'd turned out that it hadn't been his door after all.

He'd just managed to escape through the room's window when the woman's husband barged in, no doubt searching for hidden lovers in the cupboard. But thankfully, experience had taught Sir Gwaine not only how to get fully dressed in less than a minute, but to actually achieve that while nursing a terrible hangover.

After that, he'd rushed back inside the castle, leaving the allures of the lower town behind him, only to find that he had been assigned _desk duty_.

The registration desk office was a recent addition to the insanity that was Camelot's political and legal system. If asked, Gwaine wouldn't hesitate to say so in front of the entire court. He had expressed his disagreement in a private audience with the King, but it had been to no avail. And Gwaine, though many would argue, wasn't stupid. He understood the reasons behind the council's decision, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

It had been almost four months now, since the ban on magic had been repealed. Gwaine soon discovered it was far easier to revoke a law than it was to write another one, a fair one, in its place.

It was decided that, for the sake of Camelot's safety and the sense of security the people needed to maintain, that the King would enforce new laws on magic users. Laws designed to prevent a sorcerer from using his powers to harm and maim, and, most importantly, to use those powers against the Crown itself.

So it was thus that the registration had come to existence. Every man or woman with magical abilities had to register for the state.

Gwaine remembered how his private _audience_ with Arthur had gone…

"_How do you expect the people to trust magic when you show them that you still not trust it _yourself_, Arthur? These people, if there will be any crazy enough to come out and offer themselves, will be worse than outcasts!" _

It had been Gaius who registered first, under the magical art of healing and element wielding. Arthur had insisted on making a big show out of it, having that first registration in the courtyard amongst hundreds of people. He had praised the old physician for his gifts and service and then actually went on and talked about Gaius' ward, Merlin, and how much that known sorcerer had done for the kingdom.

It had taken a few weeks, but after realizing no one would be burned or beheaded, sorcerers started accepting the new regime.

Amongst the first to register were the druids, specifically those living closer to Camelot. Gwaine hadn't been the only one to be shocked when it was revealed there was a Druid camp hidden in the Darkling forest. In small groups of three or four at a time, the entirety of the Darkling Forest Druids as they were now known, had ventured to Camelot, registering for a large variety of magical abilities.

People had been reluctant towards the magic users at first. They had whispered and pointed, spat on their backs and cursed. But when nothing had happened in return, when the only thing those actions of contempt were met with was disappointment and reprimand, they backed off.

When Gaius started using magic to heal his patients again, it was met with thankful smiles and gratitude. Not long after, the first magic shop opened at the lower town, the owners a middle-aged couple from Escetia recently arrived in Camelot in search of a better life. Soon, others followed, healers and charm-sellers, all fairly minor in their powers, from what Gwaine could gather, but all received surprisingly well from the people of the town.

It _was_ progress, even he would admit that.

But still there were those who attacked magic users at night, or vandalized their homes, throwing dung and blood on their doorsteps. Cowards who never dared showed their faces. And Gwaine knew that those occurrences would continue as long as that law of registration wasn't abolished.

Lunchtime came and Gwaine was still sitting behind the desk – which was cleverly situated at the entrance of the castle's courtyard, making it easy for an outsider to locate-. He was musing over whether he should ask for one of the servants to please fetch him some chicken or wait half an hour for the registration hours to end, when he realized there were only two people left in line, a grumpy old woman dressed in a worn brown cloak and a pointy hat, of all things –talk about stereotyping- and a young man with curious, excited eyes.

The old woman claimed to be an alchemist that sometimes used magic to enhance potions. She meant to set up business in the lower town, like most of the others. Gwaine was busy trying not to laugh as the woman stroll down the road towards the inn, scaring some children who were unfortunate enough to be in her path, when he heard the clerk's surprised exclaim and turned his attention back at the registration desk.

"You want to _what_?" the man said, looking at the young boy like he had just confessed to having two heads. Well, for all Gwaine knew, he could have done exactly that.

"I want to become a knight…" the young man responded, stubbornly, forcing his body to stand straight, like he supposed a knight should do.

"But… you have _magic_," the clerk continued, speaking slowly as if he was repeating something in a foreign language. Gwaine rolled his eyes.

"Yes," the boy answered, his façade of bravery starting to leave him. Gwaine took a moment to observe the lad. He was young, that was true, but he looked like he had the necessary physique to be a knight. Judging from his clothes, the bag on his shoulders and the small sword he was carrying, the boy must have traveled far to come here.

Gwaine looked the young man in the eye, realizing how uncomfortable and even frightening this experience must be for him. But still, the kid had guts, he granted him that at least.

"Do you know how to use that sword you've got there, lad?" he asked, pointing to the weapon tucked on the young man's belt. The boy nodded eagerly.

"Of course, Sir Knight," he replied seriously.

"Then I can't see why he can't try…" Gwaine concluded, effectively putting an end to any objection. The clerk sighed and finished the young man's registration.

The boy lingered behind, and as Gwaine made his way back inside the castle, he caught up with him.

"Thank you, Sir…"

"Gwaine. You're welcome," he replied. He stopped in his tracks, a thought coming to him.

"Do you have a place to stay?" the knight asked, half expecting the self-conscious shaking of the head and the red on the young man's cheeks that came as response.

"Right then," Gwaine decided. "You're coming with me to get you sorted."

The boy seemed relieved, and perhaps even dazed, at his sudden fortune. It took him a few moments to manage an answer.

"T-Thank you, Sir Gwaine."

The knight laughed goodheartedly. In a way, the boy had reminded him a bit of Merlin. He supposed that must have been how Merlin looked at everything around him when he first arrived in Camelot. With wonder and hope. Perhaps that was why he was so willing to help the lad. It would be what Merlin would have done, Gwaine was sure of it.

"Don't mention it…" he said, realizing he still didn't know the young man's name. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name back there…"

The lad laughed offering his hand for Gwaine to shake. He had a strong handshake.

"My name is Mordred."

The end

* * *

A/N: You didn't see that one coming, did you? Or maybe you did... who knows.

I would like to thank you all once more. If it weren't for your constant support and encouragement, I wouldn't be able to finish this story. And, as always, a special thank you to my beta, **Arwyn-T**!

I wish to say just one thing about the epilogue. I know that the idea of having mandatory registration of all magic users is something that many of you will find offensive (and with reason). The reason I did it is that I just couldn't have the situation in Camelot suddenly be ideal. History teaches us that, unfortunately, it takes a lot of time and a series of combined efforts and mistakes for mankind to learn to do the right thing. Giving sorcerers complete freedom isn't something that realistically would have happened. It's just the way politics work.

Wow... I actually find it hard to believe it's over. I will definitely miss this story.

I hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!

sfsf


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